


The Ninth Circle of Hell

by vislokawitch



Series: Into the Eternal Darkness [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Dark, Deckerstar collapsed into a black hole of despair, Episode: s04e02 Somebody's Been Reading Dante's Inferno, Gen, Hell, Hurt Lucifer, Hurt/Comfort, Maze is an amazing friend, Michael has no chill whatsoever, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Protective Amenadiel (Lucifer TV), SPOILERS for the season 4, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Torture, Whump, twin archangels of mayhem and mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vislokawitch/pseuds/vislokawitch
Summary: What would happen if Chloe didn't spill the wine? What if father Kinley's plan succeeded?Will Lucifer end up trapped in Hell for the rest of eternity or is there still hope?





	1. We Take the Church by Storm

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Lucifer in any way or form. 
> 
> I apologize in advance if I mangled English too badly - it's not my first language. Actually, I've never written anything so long in English, so.... hehehe here goes nothing. 
> 
> Please, mind the tags, they're here for a very good reason. If any of the above triggers you, better don't read this. 
> 
> The credit for the chapter title goes to Powerwolf and their song by the same title. 
> 
> If you're here for a happy, fluffy Deckerstar ending... well, "abandon hope all ye who enter here" as Dante so accurately said :P

“Detective, there is something I'd like to say to you,” says Lucifer hesitantly, pouring the wine for the both of them.

“Hmm?” the Detective just looks at him distractedly.

She seems to have trouble looking him in the eye, but he can’t blame her for that. Frankly, if he had been merely a spectator here, he would laugh himself silly considering they’re both behaving as nervous as a pair of gawky teenagers on their first date.

He is the Devil for the love of Dad! He has to get a grip and say what needs to be said.

“Whilst I... realize that knowing the truth about me may not be easy for you,” he says hesitantly, but slowly gaining confidence. She nods encouragingly and he continues: ”I am glad that there are no secrets between us now. And if you ever have any more questions, I shall be happy to answer any and all of them. I've always been honest with you, Detective. And I always will be,” he assures warmly, gaining himself slightly shaky smile from his Detective... well, _the_ Detective but maybe soon to be _his_ Detective.

After all, she claims she has no problem with him being the actual Devil. She had even agreed to go on a date with him and kept her promise. This just has to mean something and he’ll be damned – again! – if he screws this up.

And then the realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

”Oh!” he exclaims appalled, chuckling nervously. “Sorry! Silly me.”

He gets up hastily, mentally giving himself a well-earned slap. One of the tips he’d found on the Internet said that he should set the right atmosphere for a date. He’d fastidiously went about making sure everything was perfect; the view from his penthouse was truly spectacular, he prepared Chloe’s favorite dish and he even tortured himself by listening to the terrible ‘90s music to choose songs, she would enjoy.

And then he’s completely forgotten to put the blasted thing on. The penthouse’s been deafeningly quiet this whole time.

”I forgot the music,” he explains, trying to cover his blunder with an exuberant attitude. “I made a playlist full of bad '90s jams for you.”

Lucifer rushes to the other room, not waiting for her replay. He pushes back the urge to brain himself on the nearest wall and tries to convince himself that forgetting to put on the music isn’t the end of the world. Still... if this stupid mistake ends up as the thing that finally wears down the Detective’s patience...

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths as Doctor Linda taught him and tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter and one day they’ll look back at this moment and laugh at his silliness. Everything is fine, someone as good as Chloe wouldn’t reject him just because of something so trivial.

He checks the volume before he finally turns on the music.

“So... where were we?” he asks amiably as he returns to the Detective, hoping that maybe she’ll forgive him his countless faults and accept him as he is.

Chloe shots him a fugitive look as he takes a sit on his cushion. She plays with something in her pocket but feeling his eyes on her, she quickly folds her hands on her lap; he can’t help but notices that they’re slightly shaking. She takes a deep breath, visibly struggling to get herself under control and Lucifer’s heart sinks. If she’s this nervous from simply being alone with him, then what are the chances that she’ll still want him _at all_?

“I... I’d like to apologize,” she says finally, practically forcing herself to look him in the eye.

This totally catches him off guard and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“What do you have to apologize for?” he asks. “You haven’t done anything wrong here.”

“Well... I shouldn’t have left like I did, without a word,” she says, nodding decisively. “You deserved better than that. After all... as you said, you’ve always been honest with me, right? You always tell everyone that you’re the Devil and yet no one believes you... me included until recently. I suppose it’s on me that I ignored all the signs and dismissed everything as... as your luciferness. I’ve been... a shitty friend and I want to make it up to you,” Chloe blinks quickly to get herself rid of a sudden flow of tears and Lucifer’s heart swells with fondness.

“Detective...” he breathes, not able to voice anything else through the lump which formed in his throat.

She visibly steels herself before she raises her wineglass in a toast.

“To new beginnings,” she says resolutely.

“I can definitely drink to that,” he agrees with a smile slowly forming on his lips. He can’t believe someone as pure, good and righteous as she, considers him, the Devil, a worthy partner.

He takes a large sip of his wine, wishing it was whiskey. He has nothing against wine and it’s, of course, a great vintage, but he misses the burn of a high-percent liquor. He needs any help he can get here and Chloe’s unexpected apology caught him completely off guard.

“Thank you, Detective,” he says softly, putting his glass back on the table. “It’s more than I’ve _ever_ deserved.”

The overwhelming flood of gratefulness leaves him physically dizzy and he has to grip the coffee table to stabilize himself. He can’t catch a breath as emotions seem to chock him, making him sway.

“Lucifer?” asks the Detective, a small frown forming between her brows. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes...” he smiles brightly at her. “Just happy.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but you really don’t look too good,” she points out. She quickly makes her way around the coffee table and grabs his abandoned glass of wine. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better soon.”

He shots her a grateful look, as he downs the remaining wine in one long gulp. He beams at her to show her that he’s okay – after all, she shouldn’t worry about him – but then a new, even stronger than the previous one, a wave of dizziness hits him with full force. His empty wineglass clatters on the marble floor as he slides down on the cushions in an ungainly heap of limbs.

“Detective?” he asks.

He’s so befuddled that he doesn’t even think to be afraid until dark spots start to dance in front of his eyes. He blinks quickly, futilely trying to make them disappear. His body suddenly feels beyond heavy and cold. There’s some irksome ringing in his ears, so he takes a breath but there seems to be no oxygen in the air. The room spins around him like a carousel from Hell.

His addled brain finally forms a conclusion that there’s something seriously wrong here and with that realization comes fear.

He tries to push himself up on his elbows but then without warning there’s someone’s hand on his chest pushing him down... down... down... he’s drowning, he can’t breathe... everything turns dark... he’s falling, he’s falling once again... there’s no marble floor under him, only endless darkness, only a fiery abyss ready to swallow him whole...

He blinks desperately, trying to remember where he is... _who_ he is with...

“Detective?” he wheezes.

The last thing he sees before the darkness claims him is Chloe’s face.

* * *

 Cold. It’s the first sensation he actually recognizes.

He’s incapacitated and he has no choice but to float hopelessly in what feels like an ocean of coldness. There’s nothing but gelid darkness... or maybe it’s only his eyes that are closed. He can’t tell. Nothing makes sense; his thoughts are muddled and sluggish, his brain’s refusing to collaborate. He probably has a body (it’s hard to tell for sure, perhaps he’s only an amorphous consciousness trapped in the darkness), but it feels wrong... He’s enervated and besides, it’s hard to regain control of one’s own body when you can’t even remember how it’s supposed to work. It had worked before... before...

What has happened to him?

He frowns... or, at least, he thinks he frowns. There’s some noise. It comes and goes like from a badly tuned radio, and it’s beyond annoying. His inability to pinpoint what the hell the noise means or what’s its source drives him insane.

It takes a truly herculean effort to focus on the sound but when he finally manages to achieve that, he’s nearly deafened by a sudden onslaught of noise. Turns out, it’s chanting and now he can’t get away from it. It’s incessant and the words reverberate eerily in his head, which, he is now realizing, aches horribly.

It occurs to him that he should be able to understand whatever is being said. And yet it sounds like complete gibberish to him. He doesn’t understand a thing; his mind is not working right.

What’s going on? Why can’t he move... or see... or... _anything_?

Rapidly rising panic gives him the strength to open his eyes at last, which doesn’t help his situation overly much.

At first, he can barely see anything, his vision blurred and shifting randomly with dizziness. He blinks with an effort, accidentally causing a shot of a debilitating pain to nearly split his head in half. Desperately fighting to not faint again, he must have made some noise of distress, because the chanting suddenly stops.

“Oh shit! He’s waking,” says a voice. A woman.

“It doesn’t matter,” answers a second voice. A man this time. “We’re almost done.”

He’s not paying attention to what they’re actually saying; at this moment he’s absurdly grateful that they stopped their chanting – it was making his already bad headache even worse.

He forces himself to blink again, trying to focus. This time his efforts pay off and finally, he’s able to see a vaulted ceiling above him. Very slowly and carefully, to avoid vertigo, he slides his eyes down across high windows and columns toward the voices.

Flummoxed he frowns slightly, realizing he’s found himself in something that looks awfully like a dark, derelict church. The walls are dirty, the paint is peeling off of them and the pews are in disarray. The only source of light are numerous candles, their flickering flames are creating disturbing, dancing shadows that seem to fill the empty church with an eerily movement.

Then, at last, he looks at the people standing over him. At first, they too seem like shadows to him but then his vision sharpens and what was a shapeless, dark blur turns out to be a tall man. He’s bald and he has a graying beard; his clothes mark him as a member of the clergy. The other person, though...

“ _D’t’ctiv._..?” he slurs, his tongue thick and uncooperative.

His brain chooses this precise moment to slam him with the memories of the evening... and his date with the Detective. What has happened back then in his penthouse? How have they even got to this accursed church?

Lucifer looks at Chloe questioningly, hoping she’ll provide him with one of those reasonable explanations she’s so good at. He hopes fervently that whatever it is, it’ll silence this mocking voice in his head whispering cynically that he knows _precisely_ what happened... That she had been oddly insistent on him drinking this blasted wine before he blacked out.

But, of course, this couldn’t be true. He shouldn’t even be considering this and surely she’ll soon prove him how badly he wronged her, just by having thoughts like that. She was too good a person to betray him so cruelly, in such a dastardly way.

She wouldn’t. It wasn’t possible, so it couldn’t be true.

“Damn it!” exclaims Chloe, startling him. She combs her fingers through her hair in an agitated move. “What are we going to do now?” she asks the priest and Lucifer feels as if he was falling, suddenly not able to breathe.

“We’ll finish, what we’ve started,” the bald man answers calmly. “It’s almost over. Don’t lose faith now, child.”

The Detective nods with the same aplomb he had seen and admired in her countless times. Now it makes his heart shatter into tiny pieces because this small nod carries all the weight of a signed death warrant.

Tears fill his eyes and he looks away from her; a strange empty feeling encompasses his whole being and especially the place where his heart used to be. For the first time, he actually notices that he lies in the middle of a large circle painted on the floor. There’re occult symbols drawn all around it and their meaning hits him like a freight train. He breaks into a cold sweat and his body wants to tremble in an abject terror but whatever she drugged him with still works, and he can barely twitch. Nonetheless, he can see that both of his wrists are encompassed in simple metal bracelets – he’s not entirely sure what are they for, but he suspects and that causes his panic to skyrocket.

“W-what...?” he manages shakily, looking at the Detective beseechingly. Some childish part of him still hopes that she’ll tell him it’s just one big misunderstanding, some sick joke.

But she doesn’t even _look_ at him, instead, she just smoothes pages of a book she’s holding. Never before in his long, long existence, he’d felt so scared and alone. Not even when he was banished from Heaven. Back then he could at least relay on his fury to give him the strength to survive... now he has nothing but heartbreak.

It’s the priest who finally answers him: “You’re going to Hell, Satan. And this time you’re going to stay there. Permanently. We’re going to make sure of it. You can’t deny it’s a condign punishment for everything you've done.”

Lucifer tries to shake his head in a futile denial at this denigration, but even this is beyond his capabilities at this moment.

“Why?” he chokes feebly and this time he gets a response from the Detective.

“Because you shouldn’t be here at all, Lucifer,” she says harshly. “Wherever you go, death and destruction follow and I simply cannot allow that. It’s better for everyone if you go back to Hell, where you _belong_.”

“No...” he whispers.

More tears blur his vision and they’re burning like hellfire that awaits him. He squeezes his eyes as tightly as possible, no longer able to face what’s going on... what they’re going to do to him. He can’t take it, he just can’t. Unfortunately, he’s not even allowed this small escape, because once again they start to chant in Latin, their words chasing him relentlessly and offering him no respite.

The priest’s voice is sonorous and daunting, but it’s hers, the Detective’s, that captures his undivided attention. He would gladly give up his soul to not hear her as she condemns him to the eternity of being trapped in Hell, in the process crushing into dust what still remains of his heart.

And he can do _nothing_ but helplessly watch and listen.

He wants to escape, to fight, to do anything, but even his own body betrays him. The drug successfully paralyzed him, making him feel like each of his limbs weighted a ton. He can’t move; no matter how much he struggles, his muscles at best quake pathetically. He wants to scream, to offer the Detective and the priest anything, everything they could possibly ever want if only they stopped this atrocity. He wants to _beg_ them to stop and to Hell with his pride since it’s where he’s apparently going anyway. Instead, the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a pointless, meaningless stream of “no, no, no, nonononono”.

He forces himself to open his eyes again, ignoring tears streaming down his face. He looks imploringly at Chloe, wordlessly pleading her to have mercy, but she doesn’t even give him the courtesy of looking at him, disparaging him completely. She’s focused on the book, chanting Latin words, like everything they’ve gone through together and meant for each other is worth nothing.

As if _he_ is worth nothing.

With chilling clarity he realizes that’s probably exactly the case.

And then their chanting gets louder and more triumphant and Lucifer feels like the cold floor under him suddenly becomes hot. It’s his only warning before the circle bursts into hellfire and the church is bathed in an angry, crimson light. He opens his mouth in a silent scream of absolute agony when the fire greedily encompasses him, but then the floor disappears underneath him, opening a portal straight to Hell.

And then Lucifer falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author regrets nothing and orginally I planned to just leave Luci like this [evil cackle]


	2. Diabolus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer deals with what happened... or more precisely, he doesn’t deal at all. Maze could write a guidebook how to take care of distressed and semi-feral devils. Amenadiel means well but he’s as clueless as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and comments. I haven’t expected such positive response. You’re all awesome :D 
> 
> The credit for the chapter’s title goes to Primal Fear. This bloody song fits so well, it could be a summary. 
> 
> If you thought that the last chapter was dark [chuckles nervously] well, I’m not pulling any punches here, so be prepared. When I say 'whump', I mean 'whump' 
> 
> [Visloka grabs a bottle of red dry wine, a bag of chocolate muffins and hides in a bunker] 
> 
> Chapter warnings: descriptions of injuries, self-harm, self-destructive behavior, panic attacks, some demons’ deaths

He's burning. He's falling.

Dimensions shift and stretch around him as he crashes through them like a meteor, in his inert state unavoidably accelerating to a truly terrifying velocity. He has no control whatsoever over what's happening to him as the abyss pulls him mercilessly into its hungry maws.

The hellfire summoned by the incantation engulfs him, burning everything... clothes, hair, flesh... He cannot see anything but furious redness of flames... Or, perhaps, he doesn't see anything at all and it's just boiling blood since his eyeballs probably melted by now. He'd scream but fire fills his mouth burning him inside and out, leaving him nothing but an empty husk.

The fall itself lasts only a few minutes... or maybe a half of eternity. There's no way for him to tell. The pain of his burning flesh and scalded soul is insurmountable, he's not able to form any coherent thoughts. He can only feel... There's no escape, only seemingly never-ending fall, only endless fear and agony.

The crash – when it inevitably comes – is almost a relief.

Of course, it probably breaks every single bone in his body. He's smashed the ground with inconceivable speed and the earth literally shatters, quaking and trembling under his momentum. He can sense the angry rumble of the dimension, but the force of the crash at least stifled the flames.

His charred body still sort of... smolders a little. Nerve endings, which by some sort of cruel miracle survived, scream in agony but there's nothing he can do but endure. He can't even take a breath as his lungs are jarred beyond recognition... he's slowly but surely suffocating. He can't see or hear, or move; his body is far too damaged to function even in the most basic of ways.

And then finally, finally there's some mercy for him as he loses consciousness.

* * *

Awareness comes and goes in waves.

Or, perhaps, he's repeatedly dying and coming back to life. He really can't tell the difference and truthfully it doesn't even matter. After all, he knows precisely where he is... and it's not like he can go anywhere else when he perishes. Or fall any lower, for that matter.

Excruciatingly slowly his mangled body starts to heal but he lies motionless and forlorn, not bothering with attempts to do anything. What's even the point in a further struggle? What he has to strive for? He doesn't know how long he spends like this, suspended in some sort of limbo beyond the torment and despair... just blessed numbness. It could be days as well as years; time's lost all meaning to him.

Regrettably, nothing in his life lasts, not even solitude.

His ears regenerated well enough for him to hear snarling voices and heavy footsteps. He doesn't move a muscle, wishing they'd just leave him alone to his misery, but, of course, they get closer instead. Gravel crunches under newcomers' feet; there's some metallic clinking, probably caused by a badly adjusted armor. Clearly, since his and Maze's departure seven earthly years ago the discipline in Hell went... well, straight to Hell.

"Well, well, well," says someone mockingly. "Isn't it our dear lord Lucifer..."

"Definitely," agrees the second one. "What a triumphant return, freefall style."

Lucifer languidly opens his eyes – they glow with hellfire like twin dying stars. The view that awaits him is exactly what he's expected. He's lying on the very bottom of a large crater punched in the surface of Hell by the momentum of his fall. Edges of the immersion are still smoking and rocks glow red from heat, even though he's pretty sure that it's been years since he crashed here.

Beyond the crater loom dark shapes of obsidian formations that litter entire hellish plane like some monstrous hives containing cells of the damned. Above them hang ominous black clouds forever enveloping the sky. Ambient, bluish light actually only manages to make the shadows darker and more sinister.

And in front of him stand three demons. The one closest to him looks like an enormous infant wobbling slightly on misshapen legs; it's covered in grayish, flaking skin. The most disturbing thing about it is an umbilical cord sticking out of its belly and ending with a toothy maw. The second demon reminds an overgrown toad with a head and tail of an alligator. The third one has a vaguely humanoid shape which doesn't help much since it's twisted almost beyond recognition and has large spikes in rather odd places.

Lucifer shudders inwardly in revulsion. Mazikeen in her unusual, infernal beauty always has been something of an aberration among the hordes of Hell. Being heinous is something of a local fashion standard.

"He doesn't seem happy to see us," says the demon who resembles a grotesque infant.

Lucifer growls in a warning and there's nothing human in the sound that leaves his throat. He doesn't want to deal with those creatures, they need to go back to whatever hole they've crawled from. Even wounded and shaken by his fall, he's still not to be trifled with.

The problem is the demons as species (with few notable exceptions) aren't exactly known for their astounding mental capabilities. They probably saw his fall and there's no hiding the fact that he's lying burned, battered and deceptively helpless – which makes him something they can confuse for easy prey. Frankly, it took them a ludicrous amount of time to gather their courage to investigate, but now that they're here, they want their pound of meat. The reason doesn't matter; the promise of notoriety they'd gain if they managed to subdue the Devil himself, is enough.

The demonic infant attacks and Lucifer lunges to his feet instinctually spreading his wings menacingly. His muscles tremble with an effort and his sudden move causes a fresh wave of agony to sear through his body, but he pushes these sensations to the back of his mind. His right wing shots up and the sharp claw at the end of the limb rips through the demon's head as if it was made out of paper instead of bone. In the same fluid motion, Lucifer jerks his wing and it cuts out the umbilical cord.

The creature is dead before it hits the ground but it still twitches spasmodically as dark blood spills on the ground. The demon's companions stare in shock, but Lucifer doesn't give them a chance to recover from their shock. In a blink of an eye, he's in front of them and plunges his fist into the chest of the spiked one. He rips its heart out and crushes it without a second thought, staring the creature straight in the face.

The last demon chooses not to wait for its fate and starts running with surprising speed, covering ground by jumping like a large toad. The Devil catches to it with one beat of his wings; he grabs the creature by its neck and throws it as if it weighed nothing. The demon hits a column a dozen of meters from him and explodes like a bag of rotten meat.

Still, like a statue Lucifer stares at the carnage around him and then suddenly he sways on his feet. He has to grab the nearest rock to keep himself vertical as dark spots dance in front of his eyes. The pain he forced himself to ignore during the fight, hits him with vengeance.

With grim determination, he catalogs all the damage done to him by flames and his crash-landing. His angelic form became nothing but a memory, all that is left of him is the Devil; his skin melted, muscle and sinew raw and exposed, in few places he glimpses blackened bones sticking through destroyed tissue. His abrupt moves during the fight ripped his fragile flesh apart and now he bleeds in various places.

Everything hurts and if he'd been a human, the shock alone would've killed him... or, at least, the pain would've driven him insane. As it happens, his angelic constitution doesn't even allow him a dubious escape of madness and he's mercilessly aware of all his injuries.

Truthfully, he's been anticipating this. After all... it's not like he didn't go through that before when he'd fallen the first time.

What surprises him, though, are his wings.

Instead of white, luminous feathers, what greets his eyes are black-red, leathery monstrosities. He stares at them in a mix of horror and disgust before he nods somberly, his shoulders hunching in defeat. It seems he's actually managed to fall even farther than the first time – back then he still had his angelic wings.

Not anymore, apparently. Now, he fully looks like a monster he is.

As he lowers his gaze despondently, he's taken aback by the sight of metal bracelets still embracing his wrists. His heart lurches in dread – hellfire destroyed everything he was wearing, it even burned to crisp his body... and yet the bracelets survived intact. Moreover, the flames apparently morphed them from normal metal to something quite different... something unearthly.

Now they're made from _adamantine_ steel.

What's worse, they seem to be grown into his flesh and now that he's noticed them, they burn like cold fire. His breath quickens and his heart starts to hammer in horror because he suspected what's the bracelets' purpose since he'd seen them for the first time in the church. Shakily he struggles to remove cursed things and when his attempt fails, he frantically tries to pry them off, but they could as well be melted into his very being. His sharp claws cut his arms to ribbons but he ignores blood and gore as panic numbs him to everything else.

He's shaking like a leaf and his vision tunnels to now bloodied bracelets but he can't stop clawing at them. He needs to remove them, no matter the cost.

And then with an anguished cry, he spreads his wings and launches into the air thick with ash. He flies as fast as he can, heading toward the bright spot where dark clouds of Hell form a circle around the gateway out of the underworld.

At first, there's an only disconcerting feeling of cold spreading from the bracelets and coursing through his veins like a poison. Still, he pushes forward, his wings beating desperately in his fraught dash for freedom, even as ice encompasses his very soul. The portal is so close... and then...

And then his body combusts into the blindingly white, heavenly fire. It burns him with cold and Lucifer falls once more.

* * *

Rhythmical noise of great wings carries through the thick atmosphere of Hell and echoes between obsidian columns but Lucifer doesn't bother to lift his head to see an incoming angel. He's huddled with his side pressed to a boulder in shadows under one of the distorted monuments; his own odious appendages are tightly wrapped around his burned, ruined frame, hiding him from the world.

There's a powerful gust of wind carrying ever-present ash as he hears a thump of someone landing and rustle of feathers.

He idly wonders how much time has passed upstairs. Here it's been years... well, centuries but he's lost count. Still, it couldn't have been that long on Earth, considering that one second up there roughly equals a year in Hell.

"Lucifer, there you are!" calls Amenadiel, relieved.

"Finally," adds Maze tartly. His brother must have carried her with him. "We've been looking all over for you."

He just curls tighter into himself, too exhausted to face the conversation they're about to have and what will unavoidably come afterward – they'll leave to never return.

"Lucifer?" asks Amenadiel, coming closer. There's a note of concern in his voice and he can't trust that, knowing it'll last only as long as it's convenient for his brother. That's been their theme for eons.

"We both felt your departure from the earthly plane," says Maze, cutting through prolonging silence. "You refused to take me to Hell not so long ago, so I figured nothing short of Apocalypse would make you go back here," she explains, her expression reproachful. "So we've decided, we better check what's going on."

Lucifer still refuses to answer and Amenadiel crouches in front of him, in vain trying to catch his eye.

"Hey, Luci, what's happened?" he urges gently.

And then he makes a mistake of trying to touch Lucifer's shoulder. His nerves are figuratively and literally fried, and the Devil recoils violently, his wings lashing out involuntarily and one of them hits his brother squarely in the chest. The force of the blow sends Amenadiel flying before he tumbles on the ground in a heap.

Lucifer's eyes widen in horror – he really didn't mean to do that, but he no longer should be surprised at his own ability to wreak havoc all around himself.

Amenadiel stands slowly, rubbing his chest absently, clearly more stunned than hurt. He takes a step toward his fallen brother, prompting Lucifer to protectively curl himself into a fetal position as he tries to blend into one with the harsh wall. He fully expects retribution for his unprovoked act of violence. Memories of all those times Amenadiel had beaten him bloody or harassed him into returning to Hell flood his mind. Normally, they're rather evenly matched but right now his body is a symphony of varying aches and while he can easily fight off demons, an archangel at his full power is an entirely different matter.

There's no point in even _trying_ to defend himself and making this harrowing experience worse than it's bound to be.

"Luci, I am _not_ going to hurt you," assures Amenadiel, but the sound of his voice just causes his brother to start trembling.

"Okay, that's it," interrupts Maze who's been watching the whole drama like a hawk. "Amenadiel, stay where you are and don't come any closer. Better shut up too."

The archangel opens his mouth to presumably protest, but a withering glare from Maze, makes him close it with an audible click.

She unhurriedly takes a few steps toward Lucifer, giving his unruly wings a wide breadth. He eyes her warily as she stops under the wall he's pressed to and unhurriedly sits at arm's length from him. She's well within his line of sight and she makes a point of avoiding any sudden moves. She rises her scarred eyebrow at him.

"So," she starts conversationally. "I see, you've been redecorating."

Lucifer shrugs slightly in answer, because ‘redecorating' is far too mild of a word. In his latest fit of rage and despair he kind of accidentally set the most of Hell on fire, causing even mountains to melt. Some regions are still ablaze and the dark sky turned orange with the glow of flames.

Hell quite literally became the Inferno.

Naturally, the demons hadn't been terribly happy about that development and they made their displeasure known to him. He'd ended up decimating a majority of their population but, while he came out of this victorious, those skirmishes left him even more maimed than he was before. The remaining demons have been skulking somewhere as far from him as physically possible, not that he was complaining – solitude is preferable to their vile company.

Maze probably figured out all of this on her own because she smirks slightly.

"Well, you've definitely been busy," she continues with an approval. "This place needed some spring cleaning anyway. It's good that you got rid of the trash, their stench had been rather overwhelming," and his lips slightly twitch at that remark, she definitely isn't wrong about that. Maze reaches to a bag he hasn't noticed before and pulls out a bottle of his favorite whiskey. "Here, that's for you."

She sets it in the space between them and he grabs it greedily in case she changes her mind and takes it away. He swallows a large gulp and moans in pleasure as alcohol flushes a persistent taste of ash. The second sip he relishes as is its due, even though he's severely tempted to immediately inhale the entire thing. After all, he better savors the whiskey while he can since it's probably his last chance to do that.

He looks at Maze, as he clutches the bottle to his chest as if it were his firstborn spawn, and his eyes burn but this time with tears instead of hellfire. In any other circumstances, he'd be ashamed but right now he's too absurdly grateful to care.

"Okay. Can you tell me what happened?" asks Maze.

Some truly pathetic noise escapes his throat. He's gone to rather astounding lengths to avoid even thinking about it, let alone talking about it... not that he's had anyone to talk to before.

" _Lucifer_ ," the demon chides sternly but not unkindly. "Whenever keeping things from me turned out well?"

He stares at her in contrition. Maze, his stalwart companion of many eons, the very same one whom he's been neglecting and mistreating in recent years, tarnishing their bond until it was almost broken. He's been too caught up in pursuit of new shiny things and relationships to nourish what he'd already had.

Considering with whom the demon lives with... he owes her _at least_  a warning so she won't share his fate or worse.

And so he tells her. Slowly and hesitantly, with the voice raspy from disuse and screaming, he apprises her of events that led to his second fall. Maze listens without interrupting but soon her entire frame shakes in barely contained fury. Her fists clench as if she was squeezing someone's throat and her dark eyes flash in a promise of retribution.

"That treacherous, duplicitous cunt!" explodes Maze when he's finished. She jumps to her feet and starts pacing, ignoring his flinch at her abrupt movement. "I'll fillet the bitch and personally drag her rotten soul to Hell!" she rages and then she suddenly stops and looks at Lucifer dolorously. "I should've realized sooner," she claims, her lips twist bitterly. "She told me Trixie doesn't want anything to do with me anymore but the truth is the spawn was really happy to see me. I should have known she's up to no good. I should have warned you."

There was a time when he'd jump at the opportunity to blame her or anyone else for what happened but now he just shakes his head with resignation.

"I, too, could see that there was something off about her," he admits. "She was far too serene and yet jumpy at the same time... and all those odd comments..." he trails off and closes his eyes tiredly. "I had a feeling that there was something fishy going on... but I _wanted_ to believe her so badly and so I _ignored_ all the signs," once again he glances at Maze. "And, to be fair, you warned me about her multiple times back in the beginning."

They share a look that carries more than words ever could and Maze nods in acknowledgment but she still doesn't seem convinced.

"But how could she do something like that?" asks outraged Amenadiel as he finally comes out of his stunned stupor. Lucifer, who's totally forgotten about him, almost jumps out of his skin. "You've done _nothing_ to deserve this, it's completely gratuitous."

Lucifer wisely chooses not to point out that a couple of years ago Amenadiel would applaud what Chloe did and probably personally grant her and all her progeny an entrance to Silver City as a reward.

"Apparently death and destruction follow me wherever I go," he answers dully.

"What?" Amenadiel makes his iconic confused face. "But that's simply not true. What did she even mean by that?"

Lucifer shrugs listlessly because isn't that the question of the millennium.

When he'd been thrown out of Heaven, at least he knew his crime. He was seditious, impugned the God Himself, started the Rebellion and become the worst calamity that had ever befallen Silver City. Frankly, the ignominy that followed wasn't even much of a surprise. Underneath all his wrath and outrage, he'd felt like a monster and so Hell ended up as his comeuppance.

Now, he doesn't even know _what_ he's done to deserve this... and that makes him doubt everything he accomplished or thought he knew. Has she banished him to Hell because he terrorized the suspects too much or maybe because of Cain? It doesn't make any sense as she understands that sometimes killing in the line of duty is unavoidable, why would she condemn him for it?

Or, perhaps, once again he's being punished for his past, for being the Devil. He's been doing his very best in his new life on Earth – Hell, he'd never even cheated in his bloody taxes! – and yet he'd been judged anew and found wanting.

Is there something so fundamentally _wrong_ with him that his every effort turns out to be discomfiture?

The thing is, he would have abided by her wishes if she'd told him she doesn't want him anywhere near her; he'd return to Hell willingly. He wouldn't even have held it against her if she'd shot him... after all, who could blame her for killing a monster? And, at least, his soul still would be free.

Instead, she used deceit to lure him after she'd found help to incarcerate him in Hell forever.

That very thought forces a sob from his throat before he manages to chock it. After his first fall, he'd been able to leave Hell whenever he wanted if things became unbearable. He hasn't fully realized how much of his sanity depended on it until that option was taken from him.

Once more he starts to claw at his wrists trying to free them from deceptively harmless bracelets. His moves become more and more frantic until strong hands grab him forcing him to stop. Being restrained causes him to completely lose it. He trashes desperately trying to dislodge whoever is holding him down but they persist; his heart beats as if it was trying to get out of his chest and his lungs don't seem to be working. He can't focus on anything but other person's weight keeping him immobile; noises escaping him express nothing but pure terror...

"For fuck sake, Amenadiel! Let him go, you're not helping!" Maze's voice cuts through his panic like a whip.

"He was hurting himself," protests Amenadiel but the weight on top of Lucifer thankfully shifts and disappears.

He doesn't waste any time as he practically melts into the wall behind him, his arms and wings tightly wrapped around his body.

"Yes, I could see that," snaps agitated Maze. "But you were making things worse."

He tunes out their bickering. He shuts his eyes, trying and failing to stop his uncontrollable shaking.

"Lucifer," Maze tries to catch his attention. "What are those things?"

He sucks a deep breath through clenched teeth, knowing he needs to tell her because they're only going to persist until he'll relent.

"T-the-ey're..." His vocal cords don't seem to be working right, his speech garbled so he swallows with effort. "They're what k-keeps me h-here... I-I c-can-t... I can't get t-them off..."

There's a moment of heavy silence and then: "They're definitely the part of the spell that sent him to Hell," concludes Maze. "If we remove them, he should be able to leave."

"Can you do that?" asks Amenadiel, sounding as clueless as always.

"No," admits Maze reluctantly. "I'm a demon, not a witch."

There's some shuffling and Amenadiel gets closer, prompting Lucifer to tense. He really doesn't think he can take any more of manhandling. His brother means well – he's aware of that – but it doesn't change a thing.

"May I take a look, Luci?" Amenadiel actually asks which almost shocks Lucifer into calmness.

He stares at his currently solicitous elder brother and then acquiesces, slowly extending his left hand toward him. What does he have to lose anyway? Amenadiel gingerly examines the bracelet without touching him, his face becomes progressively more puzzled the longer he looks.

"What if I tried to remove it?" he suggests.

Lucifer has nothing to lose. Well... almost. He grabs the bottle of whiskey which by some miracle survived his earlier struggle with Amenadiel and hands it to surprised Maze.

"You sh-should t-take a few steps b-back," he warns as she grasps the bottle.

"Why?" she narrows her eyes askance.

He shots her a look and she thankfully relents. He steels himself for what is about to come as he holds his hands out to Amenadiel. The archangel carefully touches the bracelets and Lucifer practically tastes his power infiltrating his adamantine prison, looking for any weak spot. And then there's familiar cold spreading through his body.

Lucifer bursts into white flames which enfold him in a blink of an eye and for an endless moment everything is freezing heat.

Mercifully, it's over soon and he's left sprawled on the ground, completely motionless except for shallow panting rising his chest.

"What the Hell?!" cries startled Amenadiel and Maze swears foully in her native tongue.

He hears as his brother once again crouches beside him and then he feels a light touch on the side of his head. There's a burst of brilliant light and the pain ceases; Lucifer shots Amenadiel grateful look realizing he must have used one of his feathers to heal him.

"Lucifer, you stupid fuck!" growls the demon. "You _knew_ it would happen," she accuses and Amenadiel makes some noise of utter disbelief.

Lucifer doesn't bother to answer as he laboriously pushes himself up to sitting position; his muscles still spasm with phantom pain.

"How many times have you done this to yourself?" Maze asks harshly.

He lowers his eyes under her dark glare. He couldn't answer her even if he wanted – he lost count how many times he'd tried to leave Hell, each and every time with the same result. All attempts to remove the bracelets had the very same repercussions.

And yet he's been trying over and over again, even though he's had no hope of success. The physical suffering is an old acquaintance of his and his pain threshold is somewhere in the stratosphere... and, at least, it numbs him to the mental anguish.

He doesn't tell Maze any of this. She strongly disapproved of him cutting off his wings, so she'd probably be even more upset now. Of course, judging by the thunderous look on her face his prevarications haven't fooled her and she knows anyway.

The demon shakes her head, visibly struggling to get a hold of her anger.

"We will talk about it later," she promises ominously. "We need to reverse this spell. So, tell me everything you remember about the ritual."

He shakes his head plaintively.

"I-I was out for the most of it," he confesses miserably. "I don't know how they've done it. I-I d-don't know! I'm s-sorry!"

"Okay, it's fine" Maze remains unflinchingly collected. "What would you do if it were someone else in your position? _How_ would you go about freeing them?"

Lucifer takes a few deep breaths, fighting to collect his scrambled thoughts.

"I... I'd find out the precise wording of the ritual," he says. "The symbols, everything. No human has the power to transform normal steel into adamantine one but if the priest was a true believer he could've got access to the power of Heaven by special prayers and incantations. Undoing all of that would be tricky and definitely require divine intervention."

"But how?" inquires Amenadiel, eyes wide, his face a picture of disquiet and bewilderment.

Glumly Lucifer realizes that his already unpleasant situation actually _can_ get worse if someone butchers an attempt to free him. The bracelets will stop him if he ties himself. Maze has only basic knowledge of magic and she can't do anything anyway since her demonic nature probably wouldn't mix well with some holy ritual. Amenadiel has the right kind of power but is as ignorant as one can get. Even if Lucifer gave him step by step instructions, things could go astray. What if he ends up permanently set on fire or if the power tethering him to Hell transforms into literal chains? He'd rather not find out what the demons would do to him if he were fettered and defenseless.

"Michael," he says and looks imploringly at Amenadiel. "Ask him for help. He'll know what to do."

His elder brother stares at him in pure disbelief.

"But, Lucifer, what makes you think that he of all angels will help you?" protests Amenadiel. "You two _hate_ each other."

Lucifer's left eye twitches slightly. No, he does _not_ hate his twin brother in the slightest. He's actually contemplated praying to him but... he blindly trusted Chloe and where has it got him? Now he is questioning everything, including Michael's affection. He's been stewing in hell of his own anxiety and doubt, instead, of asking his twin for help and risking another rejection. I'd destroy what's left of him.

A grim perspective of Amenadiel blindly stumbling through the ritual and probably screwing it up six ways to Sunday, terrified him enough to put aside his misgivings.

"And even if he agrees to help," blunders on the archangel. "What makes you think he actually knows anything about magic?"

He doesn't answer as the task of explaining intricacies of his and Michael's relationship to his brother seems too daunting. Amenadiel has always done what he deemed right, regardless of Lucifer's opinions. What were the chances he'll start listening now?

"Oh, for love of everlasting fuck!" sighs annoyed Maze. "Amenadiel, _for once_ in your life just do what he asks. In case you never realized, Michael is a shrewd bugger who knows much more then he shares with the rest of the class," she smirks deviously. "Oh, and inform him that I'm going to kick his finely feathered ass for the thing in Prague in the XV century. And if he won't give me back my favorite sword, he's going to regret it. Painfully."

Amenadiel somehow manages to look even more confused than before.

"What thing in Prague? What are you talking about?"

"He'll know. You don't have to," shrugs Maze and takes command over the situation. "Now, as much as I'd love to hunt down Decker and her pet priest, this idiot shouldn't be left unsupervised or he might hurt himself even worse," she completely ignores a glare that Lucifer gives her and addresses Amenadiel: "You, go to Heaven, find Michael. I'll stay here."

"You don't have to," protest Lucifer feebly.

"No, I don't but I will. It won't be forever," she thinks for a moment and makes a face. "And even if it is... that's fine too, you're the one who hates Hell, not me. I can always arrange trips upstairs with a winged pillock here," Lucifer tears up once again and wants to say something but she doesn't give him an opportunity. "Enough of this dilly-dallying. Amenadiel, go."

Much to Lucifer's surprise, Amenadiel actually obeys. He rises up and spreads his imposing, dark gray wings.

"We _will_ make this right, brother," he promises solemnly. "We'll get you out of Hell no matter what."

He just nods, his throat too closed up for him to answer. Together with his loyal demon, they watch as the archangel flies away toward Heaven.

* * *

Amenadiel swiftly navigates through the cold space between dimensions as he takes metaphysical flight up. Soon he finds himself on the outskirts of Silver City. After pervasive darkness of Hell, it seems even more beautiful with its high, graceful towers and warm light that emanates from every surface.

For a short moment, he lets himself bask in its serenity and grace before he starts looking for his younger brother. He forcefully pushes back his doubts about the wisdom of including him in their endeavor. Sure, once upon a time, before the Rebellion, before everything went to Hell, Lucifer and Michael were very close but afterward...

Quite often Amenadiel was the one to chase Lucifer back to Hell but on the remaining occasions, it was Michael's job. He's lost the count of all the times he had to separate the twins from killing each other and destroying half of the planet in the process.

Still... he's never seen Lucifer so devastated, so... vulnerable. His younger brother's always been an exuberant force of nature, and when threatened a pure hellfire and spite, armed with a dry wit. To see him so devoid of hope and the will to fight... Lucifer was so scared of him, that he'd hurt him and this has never happened before even when they were fighting. Amenadiel's heart clenches oddly and he blames his brother's poignant situation for it.

The thing is, he worries for Lucifer's evidently crumbling sanity. Perhaps, his mind was muddled enough that in his confusion he asked for Michael. Before his first fall, his twin had been his go-to person in times of distress but now...

He has every intention to at least _try_ to do one thing Lucifer asked of him. He's actually grateful for Silver City's vastness. It gives him some time to prepare his arguments to convince Michael to land a hand. Maze claims his speeches are mind-numbingly boring and it just wouldn't do to annoy his brother.

All too soon, he finds Lucifer's identical twin amidst a group of other angels.

"We need to talk," he says as he lands.

"Oh, be still my beating heart. Just look who graced us with his presence," Michael greets him.

Amenadiel scowls, because his brother in surly mood was literally the last thing he needed. Not that it was much of a surprise. Michael had always had something of a bad temper and it took his more light-hearted twin to defuse his mercurial moods, but since Lucifer's Rebellion and Fall, the archangel became even more cantankerous than before.

"We need to talk," says Amenadiel through gritted teeth. "In private."

He glares at other angels who wisely scamper as fast as legs and wings allow them. Michael just watches him with his dark eyes, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes?" he prompts laconically.

"It's about Lucifer," he starts and proceeds to give his brother a recap of what befallen the Devil. The longer he speaks the more Michael's countenance darkens.

"But _why_ hasn't he prayed to me..." mutters the archangel more to himself than Amenadiel. "Never mind. So... do you have a plan on how to fix this?"

"Uh..." utters very eloquently Amenadiel. He's been so busy plotting his speeches to convince Michael to help that he hasn't even thought of that.

"I'll take this as a ‘no'," scoffs his younger brother. He shrugs and blindingly white wings erupt from his shoulders. "Let's go."

Amenadiel blinks. Then blinks again.

"Wait... you're going to help?" he asks confused. "Just like that?"

Michael throws him a glare that would turn a lesser being into dust.

"Yes, _of course_ , I'm going to help," he snaps impatiently. "Are you coming or are you waiting for the Catholic Church to proclaim it a miracle?"

And with that, he takes off in a flurry of white feathers.

Amenadiel opens and shuts his mouth, staring dumbly at the empty space his younger brother's just vacated. Then he comes to the conclusion that instead of counting feathers on a gifted archangel he probably should follow him. He flaps his wings, chasing after Michael.

Together they're going to find a way to save Lucifer from perdition.

And _avenge_ his torment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it’s not clear – Michael is not going to be a villain in this story. 
> 
> Working title of the next chapter is “Two archangels on a rampage”. I swear it’s going to be lighter than this. Probably ;)


	3. Incense & Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe believes she saved the world from evil. The problem is, the Devil has two brothers who are much scarier than him. And neither of them is amused by humans mistreating him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, no, what have I done this time? I wanted this fic to have 10k at most... [sigh] Sorry for the long wait but writing Chloe is like pulling teeth without anesthesia. So, I sort of switched the pov in the middle. 
> 
> Anyway, credit for the chapter title and the song belongs to Powerwolf. 
> 
> The Bible quotation is from Psalm 23:4 by Revised Standard Version (RSV) 
> 
> Chapter warnings: descriptions of violence, torture, blood and blasphemy (the last one is solely Mike’s fault)

Chloe closes the door to her apartment and slumps against it in relief. An adrenaline rush left her slightly shaky but thankfully everything was over now and she could finally relax after a month of living in constant fear and stress. It’ll probably take her a while before she’ll be able to fully comprehend what happened, that they succeeded in their endeavor and protected everyone from a great evil.

If she’s being honest with herself, she expected far more trouble than actually happened. Her overactive imagination tormented her with horror scenarios where half of LA was burned in hellfire and everyone she ever cared for died a slow and painful death. After all... what else can you expect when you’re dealing with the Devil?

Things went so smoothly that she has to fight the urge to not burst into hysterical laughter.

Chloe steps into her darkened apartment and habitually checks Trixie’s bedroom before she remembers that today she’s at Dan’s place. She had no way of predicting how this evening would go, so she arranged with her ex-husband to take care of their daughter and he happily agreed. She wishes for reassurance of Trixie’s presence but alone she can defuse without worrying about her.

She opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of wine. It’s cheap stuff but at this moment it tastes better than anything she’s ever drunk.

She feels somewhat bad about the subterfuge she had to use; drugging anyone is against her principles but in this case, the end quite literally _sanctified_ the means. They had no hope of subduing the beast otherwise. And besides... he had it coming for deceiving her for so long.

Unlike his usual sycophants, she’s never been charmed by his suave, rich club owner facade. Of course, he changed his tactic showing her what she presumed to be his vulnerable side, ruthlessly targeting her natural human compassion. She hadn’t suspected the ruse and he let her even believe she had been able to curb some of his most annoying tendencies like his promiscuousness or being obnoxiously recalcitrant. She can’t help but shudder at the thought of why he might have targeted her. He assured her that his powers don’t work on her but in retrospect, he probably had been influencing her on some subliminal level. It’s the _only_ explanation of how he managed to fool her for so long.

She can’t believe he actually still tried the same trick when they were performing the ritual. The petrified, heartbroken look in his dark eyes would have hunted her if he had been a human.

Lucifer isn’t a human, though. He’s not even a _person_ at all.

Father Kinley warned her that malevolent entities often use tricks like this, aiming for an exorcist’s compassion, when everything else fails. He praised her strength and the ability to resist the influence of Satan himself, especially after he had had years to wear down her defenses.

With a tired sigh, Chloe leans against the kitchen counter. Thank God, it’s finally over...

...and in this precise moment, there’s a powerful gust of wind that came out of nowhere, a whooshing sound like great wings and the world suddenly flips. Her apartment disappears and she finds herself in a church. Taken by surprise she loses her balance and falls on the floor, sudden change of scenery making her dizzy.

Her heart starts to hammer but she stays focused because a part of her sort of expected that something supernatural might happen... banishing the Devil couldn’t have been that simple. Instinctually she reaches for her gun, as she looks around in frantic search for whatever entity that dragged her here.

She recognizes the old church where she’s been meeting with father Kinley through last month. It’s late so most of the lights are dimmed and darkness veils distant corners, even sculptures of saints and angels appear menacing. She flinches seeing a movement but then recognizes the exorcist; he’s also on the floor, clearly confused.

“Are you okay?” she asks, rushing to him. “What happened?”

The priest doesn’t get the chance to respond.

“I’m afraid that’s been us,” announces a familiar voice.

Chloe whirls around and sees Amenadiel in a place she can swear was empty a second before. It’s his companion that makes her eyes widen in horror, though.

“ _Lucifer_ ,” she gasps aiming her gun at him, now truly getting afraid.

How is this even possible? Father Kinley promised that there is no way for the Devil to escape perdition.

“Close but not quite,” he says, not in the slightest perturbed by a possibility of being shot. “My name is Michael.”

She stares at him incredulously. She had been an agnostic most of her life but even she recognizes the name of an archangel. The thing is, he’s a dead ringer of Lucifer, down to black-brown eyes and an aquiline nose. Hell, they even have the same British accent.

If something looks like the Devil, talks like the Devil...

“Oh, they’re twins,” explains helpfully Amenadiel. “Only Mom and Dad can tell them apart but that’s omniscience for you. Everyone else just _always_ confuses them.”

“No idea why,” comments dryly Lucifer’s doppelganger. “I’m much prettier.”

It’s such a Lucifer thing to say, she gets even more suspicious and yet... His dark hair are longer and left in their natural curly state. He wears black, sleeveless shirt and leather pants that would make Maze proud; there’s a golden gleam of few earrings in his left ear. His attire is completed by a wickedly curved, short sword hanging from his belt.

All in all, Michael looks more like a rock star than a saintly archangel.

She has a hard time imagining Lucifer in anything other than his designer suits. She notices that Michael’s combat boots are only half-way laced and this more than anything else convinces her, he is who he claims to be. The notoriously vain Devil would never allow such imperfection in his outfit. Beside... Lucifer used to spend more time styling his hair than she ever has; judging by the state of Michael’s unruly curls he might have heard of what a comb is but no one gave him a proper manual how to use one.

“Okay,” she says, letting out a relieved breath and lowers her gun.

Behind her father Kinley finally gets his feet under him. He stands up, staring at two angels in awe.

“You’re _the_ archangel Michael,” marvels the priest, his eyes large.

“There’s only one of me in Host,” he sounds oddly wistful.

“It’s such an honor to meet you,” gushes Kinley.

A melancholic look vanishes from Michael’s eyes which turn razor sharp in an instant.

“I can’t say the same,” he snaps. “You condemned Lucifer to Hell. We want him back. You need to tell us precisely what you did to him, so we can undo it.”

In the silence that fell after this a pin drop could have been heard. Chloe throws father Kinley a confused look but he just stares at the angels opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Perhaps a tad too late occurs to her that neither Amenadiel nor Michael seem pleased with the situation.

“But... but... the Devil’s place is in Hell,” stammers Kinley. “You of all angels should know that the best. You’re the one who banished him after he in his pride had defied God.”

If Michael’s eyes were icy before, now they turn cold enough to stop global warming in its tracks.

“What happened in the past is a family affair and none of your business,” he all but growls. “It is not your place to judge and no one asked you to meddle.”

Kinley is stunned into silence and Chloe clutches her gun as if her life depended on it. Perhaps, it does.

“Mike,” says Amenadiel calmingly, apparently trying to defuse a quickly escalating situation. “Look,” he addresses Chloe and the priest, while the storm cloud called Michael relents momentarily but still seethes silently at his side. “I understand that you tried to do the right thing. You wanted to protect humanity from what you believed to be evil, right? But Lucifer isn’t evil, he’s never harbored any ill will toward your kind. Chloe, you know that he’s _never_ hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, he only ever seeks justice. He’s not a threat to anyone here,” he stares at her earnestly. “You’ve unjustly caused him grievous harm. We want to fix that and this is your chance to make amends.”

Chloe takes a deep breath to calm herself. She remembers Lucifer mentioning that Amenadiel has fallen from grace and lost his wings. Back then she dismissed this as nonsensical ramblings of a man with delusions of grandeur but she reconsidered after she’s learned the truth. She discussed the whole issue with father Kinley and they’ve both agreed that a fallen angel, possibly under influence of the Devil couldn’t be trusted.

A few years back Amenadiel and Lucifer had been bucking heads but since then the former of them has started to evince signs of being brainwashed into believing the Devil’s good intentions. That of course was only a proof of Satan’s insidiousness as it apparently led to the unfortunate angel’s fall.

Chloe actually feels sorry for him. He’s a victim here as well.

“Amenadiel,” she starts sympathetically. “I know you’re only trying to help your brother but you can’t forget who we’re dealing with. I’m sorry to say this but he tricked you. Not so long ago you wanted him back in Hell, didn’t you? Now it’s done. You can finally go back home, to Heaven.”

There’s an awful mix of disbelief and regret on the dark-skinned angel’s face.

“It had been what I wanted for a very long time, yes,” he admits. “But not anymore. Lucifer isn’t who you think he is. You’ll never know how much he sacrificed for you, he even went back to Hell _twice_ for you, even though he despises that accursed place. You shouldn’t revile him like this.”

Chloe blinks back tears. Can’t he see how hard it is for _her_? She had trusted Lucifer, let him be her partner, she even allowed him near her daughter. All this time she assumed he’s just a harmless crazy who’s no danger to anyone but himself.

And then she’s seen the face of the Devil.

“I’ve read the Revelations,” she informs him confidently. “I know what he’s done. What he intends to do and I had to stop him.”

Michael chooses this moment to bark bitter, mirthless laughter.

“Oh, so you know everything,” he mocks. “You’ve read badly translated ramblings of a weed smoking, half-insane man from two thousand years ago. He had never even met any of us, aside for Gabriel who hates Lucifer like the plague. But sure, you have a full and comprehensive picture of the situation,” he looks at her as if she were something disgusting that stuck to his boot. “Why didn’t I think of that? I guess, what you’ve done is okay then.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle that his sarcasm doesn’t burn a hole in the floor.

“I needed to defend my family!” she insists angrily, not intimidated by his tantrum. Her confused personal feelings held no importance; she had a duty to protect the world from evil. “I couldn’t take the chances that one day Lucifer _might_ decide to destroy everything.”

Michael scoffs contemptuously and stalks into the darkness at the back of the church. Chloe shakes her head in exasperation because the twins evidently share a penchant for dramatics. And by all accounts, they both have an attention span of a five-year-old on a sugar high, given that the archangel clearly couldn’t stay focused on a confrontation. He’s probably not someone who’s challenged often and it shows. Bringing him down to earth might actually be educational for him.

Unfortunately, Michael’s melodramatic reaction riled up the other angel as well.

“I am Amenadiel,” he declares gravely. “I am the Firstborn of all angels. I am telling you that you have wronged Lucifer. You really should take my words as the truth and help us.”

“I’ve dedicated my life to dealing with the supernatural,” answers unimpressed Kinley. “I’ve been fighting demonic forces for decades... Sending the Devil himself to Hell is an apotheosis of my whole career. I won’t jeopardize that for anything and most definitely not on a word of a fallen angel.”

“What demons?” asks frustrated Amenadiel. “Lucifer banned demonic possession around twenty thousand years ago. He had personally dealt with any who tried to break his law. Both I and Michael, the Prince of Heaven, are telling you that you’ve made a mistake. Why aren’t you listening?”

“Spare your breath, brother,” interrupts silkily Michael before any of them can answer. Chloe turns around rapidly and sees him near the entrance to the church. “They don’t care for the truth, only for their own version of it. Reason won’t work here.”

Michael does something with the doors that causes a loud metallic clink. She has a bad feeling that whatever he did it ensured that this exit is out of commission. She assumed that the archangel simply wondered off to sulk when he didn’t get what he wanted... Instead, it was the moment when he lost his patience.

She can practically hear her own blood rushing as adrenaline fills her veins once again.

“I don’t believe we’ve made ourselves clear,” observes Michael, unhurriedly prowling toward them through the main aisle. “You _will_ tell us what we need to know. The only choice you have on the matter is whatever you’ll do so willingly... or if we _torture_ it out of you.”

With trepidation, Chloe realizes that Amenadiel’s stance also changed in adherence to his brother’s new tactic. Now he looks ready to attack or to intercept their attempts to escape.

She squares her shoulders determined to not let them intimidate her. She’s fairly certain they’re bluffing anyway. All the Christian lore she’s read in the last month indicated that the angels are meant to be protectors of humankind and they only punish the wicked at God’s orders.

“You’re angels,” she says, trying to sound confident. “You’re not allowed to hurt us.”

“I cannot kill you,” corrects Amenadiel for some reason looking awfully pleased with himself. “But Father never interdicted hurting you... and beside Mickey is an exception anyway.”

Chloe recalls a nature documentary she once watched with her daughter; they were fascinated by a tiger stalking its prey, by its deadly focus. She’s far less amused now when she finds herself on the receiving end of similar attention from Michael. The archangel emanates almost palpable malice as he predatorily circles them.

“Indeed,” he confirms. “Dad was a bit unclear on the rules and naturally many of your kind took advantage of that mistreating some angels. He wasn’t happy about that, to put it mildly. So He bestowed upon me the right to interfere in _any way_ I see fit if any of my kin are abused by you,” Michael’s dark eyes glimmer dangerously in an eerie resemblance of Lucifer’s when he was about to pounce on a particularly annoying suspect. “It’s not only my duty but also my pleasure since you two have hurt my _favorite_ brother.”

“He’s the Devil,” protests stunned Kinley.

“So you claim I should turn my back on my brother just because he’s accumulated some rather unfortunate nicknames?” drawls Michael. “How very Catholic of you.”

With no additional warning, he grabs the priest by the front of his shirt and throws him across the whole church as if the tall man weighted nothing.

It’s then that Chloe realizes that she might have seriously underestimated the angels...

* * *

Michael watches with satisfaction as the priest lands with a heavy thud and rolls few more meters until he crashes into the wall. He doesn’t get the chance to gather his bearings because Amenadiel appears over him and drags him up with one hand. The archangel punches him in the face with enough force to once again send him tumbling on the floor.

He shakes his head with disapproval at his elder brother’s antics. Frankly, when Amenadiel suggested that they should at least try and reason with humans because it’s what Lucifer would want, he actually shocked Michael into agreeing. Usually, the eldest of angels was the first one to start bashing skulls and breaking kneecaps, so his attempts at diplomacy were like watching a bear dance.

Of course, now Amenadiel is making up for wasted time with... enthusiasm.

“Amenadiel, Amenadiel,” Michael sighs. “Please, try and don’t break his jaw. It’s rather a stupid thing to do when you’re interrogating someone. Let’s start smaller.”

In a blink of an eye, he transports himself to the groaning priest and crouches at his side. He observes the human as he wiggles like a bug on its back in his attempts to sit down. When he finally succeeded, Michael grabs his hand and casually breaks his finger.

“For your own sake... better start talking,” Michael casually informs him when the priest finally stops screaming.

The balding man shakes his head fervently.

“I don’t care what you do to me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “I will never tell you how to release the Devil from Hell. I don’t care who you are.”

The archangel doesn’t bother with replay. Instead, he ruthlessly twists the priest’s right arm over 180 degrees from its rightful alignment, prompting even louder scream. Broken fragments of bone pierce the skin and there’s blood soaking black material of the man’s shirt. Michael estimates coolly that even if they let him live, the injury like this will leave him with permanent damage.

“Hey!”

He turns slowly at the sharp cry and looks at the woman – Amenadiel said her name’s Chloe. She stands behind them and aims her funny little gun at him. Her lips are pursed into a grim line.

“You need to back off,” she barks, probably thinking she sounds commanding. “Let him go.”

Unimpressed Michael raises an eyebrow as he stands up. It takes balls to defy an irate archangel – he has to give her that – but it’s a very thin line between bravery and sheer stupidity.

He’s tempted to rain his barely contained wrath on her but freeing Lucifer is a priority. She’s nothing but an ignorant pawn here. It’s doubtful she knows anything about workings of the spell which makes her useless – the priest is the brains of the operation.

And yet Michael wastes time staring at her in loathing, distracted from his goal.

In Hell any weakness could and would be used against Lucifer so he had to harden himself to avoid further damage. Through eons Michael could do very little but watch as his twin has grown more and more jarred, more withdrawn, more broken... Their family scorning and demeaning him at every turn has made things considerably worse.

Ha can’t imagine how much strength it required from Lucifer to keep his typical joie the vivre... to still be able to trust anyone at all.

And this woman treated the rare gift of his trust as if it were trash... and destroyed it in the cruelest way she could. He doesn’t dare to think what a betrayal like this has done to his gentle-hearted brother.

“What you’re doing is not right,” Chloe insists, apparently abandoning all semblance of self-preservation. For some reason, she seems to believe that his silence means he’s listening to her and not fighting a fierce internal battle to not rip her to shreds. “You can’t torture people, no matter what your reasons are. You need to stop.”

As on cue behind them Amenadiel starts to methodically break the priest’s fingers, his timing absolutely flawless. The man screams constantly but he still refuses to share what he knows.

“You preach what’s right... but apparently drugging someone who trusted you, a _friend_ , is okay,” points out Michael, disgusted with the woman’s hypocrisy.

She has the decency to blush but she doesn’t relent.

“It’s your last chance to stop this or I’ll shoot you,” she threatens, unflinchingly pointing her noisy human toy at him.

Michael doesn’t see a point of gracing this with an answer so he turns to Amenadiel who’s beating living delights out of the priest. He’s somehow surprised when there’s a loud bang and then they watch as a bullet bounces off him harmlessly. Chloe’s eyes go comically huge and the confused archangel just wonders what on earth gave her an absurd idea that a human-made weapon could hurt one of his kind.

She obviously can’t handle this revelation because she proceeds to shoot at him until she has no bullets left. Michael only winces – not from pain (lead projectiles are an annoyance at most) but because of noise which reverberates through the church like thunder. He mentally congratulates himself foresight of securing the building with a soundproofing spell, otherwise, this racket would undoubtedly summon more humans.

She gawks at her empty gun with a look of utter betrayal and bewilderment on her face. Michael would find that far more amusing if his ears still didn’t ring from the onslaught of noise. He’s not the most forbearing of angels on his good day and now his patience snaps so he pushes Chloe.

He uses very little of his strength but it’s enough to make her stumble. She falls heavily on the floor near the row of pews. There’s a crack and she cries as she grabs her left ankle; it seems broken or at least sprained.

“Why?” she asks, glaring at him accusingly. There are tears in her eyes but he can’t tell if they’re caused by pain or anger. “You’re supposed to be the one who protects humanity from evil. You should be grateful that we did your job for you. Why are you helping Satan instead?”

He could tell her that, no, he’s never protected humanity from anything. Primo, he simply doesn’t give a damn. Secundo, ruling Silver City keeps him far too busy. Those days his Father stares into the Abyss or whatever else He occupies Himself with and for all intents and purposes, He basically dumped running the family business on Michael and Lucifer (Heaven and Hell respectively).

It’s the latter of the two of them who have always protected the mortals from demons and other malevolent entities... and on some memorable occasions from humans’ own stupidity. Not that he ever gets any thanks for that. The belief that Lucifer is the evil incarnate and Michael a saint is far too firmly entrenched on the Earth – it doesn’t matter that _neither_ is true.

The archangel abhors taking the credit from his brother – especially since he’s done nothing to earn it – but all of his attempts to straighten things out failed spectacularly. Quite possibly because Gabriel’s been poisoning minds of humans against Lucifer. Still... that abominable thing about a fire breathing dragon was probably just their younger brother bitching about Michael’s temper. How this evolved to him slaying Lucifer in some epic battle is a mystery. Suffice to say, neither of the twins is impressed.

He could tell Chloe all of this, but he's wasted enough time on her.

“Because Lucifer is the nice one and I’m the arsehole,” he says only. It’s the shortened version of the truth anyway.

He leaves Chloe at last and joins Amenadiel. For some reason, his elder brother throws him a concerned glance as if expecting bullet wounds to magically appear on his chest.

“You’re okay?” asks the elder of archangels.

“Yes,” Michael frowns at him in puzzlement but decides it’s not important now. “How it goes?”

Amenadiel’s knuckles are bloodied and the priest lies in a broken heap on the floor. The archangel evidently hasn’t been holding back but much to Michael’s surprise the exorcist starts chortling. There’s a disturbing gleam of madness in his eyes.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for thou art with me,” he rasps. His teeth are bloodied which makes his beatific smile beyond creepy. “Lord will reward me in the afterlife for making sure His grand plan is fulfilled... even when his angels have _failed_ in their duty.”

The man is clearly a fanatic ready to endure and sacrifice everything in the name of his belief. Amenadiel looks torn between frustration and being unsettled but Michael just tilts his head in thought. And then he smirks because the priest unwittingly revealed his weak spot.

“You’re forgetting whom you’re dealing with,” he informs him with deadly calm. “You humans choose your afterlife. It’s your own guilt or lack thereof that decides whenever you go to Hell or Heaven. But the system isn’t perfect, it needs supervision,” Michael straightens as he looks down at humans. “ _My_ supervision. I am the judge and the jury of everyone who enters Silver City. So many of them believe themselves righteous but in truth, their souls are rotten with sins they don’t even have the decency to regret,” his smirk turns vicious. “You won’t believe my delight at throwing undeserving into the eternal fire... And it’s also my prerogative to ban anyone from ever entering Heaven.”

In one step he’s standing over the priest. He presses an open palm to his chest over the heart. The church is flooded by divine light and the man howls in agony when his very soul is seared. For the first time, there’s a real fear in his eyes; he feels the truth of Michael’s words as he’s marked for Hell.

The archangel lets him go when it’s done and turns to the woman. She barely has a moment to get scared before he’s upon her. He marks her as well and relishes her scream.

Michael gazes at both humans without even a shred of pity. They were given more than one chance to fix their mistake but they refused repeatedly. The Old Testament is a nice cautionary tale as of why courting the wrath of Heaven is a suicidally stupid idea. They have no one to blame but themselves.

“Eye for an eye... eternal damnation for the eternal damnation,” he declares darkly. “Paradise is now forever denied to you. I am _the only one_ in the entire universe who can reverse the judgment I’ve passed... well, me or God Himself but He’s never interfered before,” he lets the weight of that statement sink. He can practically taste their fear. “Tell me what I need to know or I’ll kill you and we’ll continue this conversation in Hell. I believe Lucifer and Mazikeen will love to join us... Tell me and _perhaps_ I’ll be merciful.”

For few heartbeats there’s only silence filled by the priest’s stuttered breathing and Chloe’s quiet sobs and then:

“My journal,” rasps the exorcist, his self-righteous resistance broken by the threat of Hell. Now he can’t tell them where they can find it fast enough.

Michael quickly nods at Amenadiel who wastes no time as he flies off to retrieve the journal. He closes his eyes at a sudden flood of relief, hoping this whole debacle soon will be over.

“I don’t think you understand how badly you fucked up,” he muses to no one in particular. “Luci has never been a cause of evil, he’s only ever punished it. It’s him not me that’s the benign, magnanimous one,” he smiles sadly. “Even despite all the mudslinging your kind has done to him, he still used to send me souls he hadn’t believed deserving of damnation. We had had quite an efficient system going before he retired.”

With a rustle of feathers Amenadiel lands in front of him.

“How’s that possible it’s the first time I’ve heard about that?” he asks frowning.

Michael almost rolls his eyes. His elder brother’s spent his whole life in a perpetual state of obliviousness where everything’s been much simpler than in reality.

“Heaven and Hell’s joined state secret,” he shrugs. The stare Amenadiel gives him practically screams ‘you sneaky little shit’ so he quickly gets him back on tracks: “What’ve you got?”

Amenadiel shows him a leather bound, black book. “Is that it?” he inquiries looking at the priest.

“Yes,” mumbles the man. Judging by his expression he’s going into shock from pain... or perhaps the reality of being condemned to Hell downs on him. “The ritual is on the marked pages.”

“You better not be deceiving us,” warns Michael before together with Amenadiel they start reading.

It’s clear that preparations for the ritual must have taken the priest a very long time and involved many hours of prayers and meditations which allowed him to summon heavenly power. Gathering of ingredients for the potion undoubtedly consumed whole years. The spell itself while powerful is relatively straightforward but all of this would be for nothing if not for the miracle. And here comes Chloe who according to Amenadiel is one... what a ‘coincidence’.

The longer Michael stares at the description of the ritual the more aghast he is. He can pretty accurately estimate how this monstrosity would work in practice and he has no trouble imagining Lucifer’s reaction.

“This is not a binding spell!” he all but screeches. “This is fucking _torture_!”

With no conscious decision on his part, his eyes glow with white fire and fury finally breaks the dam of his will. The very air in the church darkens and the windows rattle sinisterly as the ground starts quaking. The mortals seem petrified and for a very good reason as they’re breath away from being thrown straight into hellfire.

“Michael, Mike... calm down,” says hurriedly Amenadiel. “You won’t help Lucifer by bringing the roof down on our heads.”

He grits his teeth because at this moment it takes all his willpower to remember that his grief is not good enough reason to turn this whole damned town into a smoking crater.

“Why the fuck you haven’t told me it’s this bad?” he accuses angrily.

Amenadiel told him about Lucifer’s misfortune, but he conveniently skipped the part about him being burned alive... repeatedly knowing his twin – he always panics, when he feels trapped. Had Michael knew, he wouldn’t have wasted even a minute on reasoning with humans. He’d simply drag their vile souls straight to Hell and see how they’d enjoy it.

“Well, I was going to but you took off from Silver City like a bat out of Hell and I hadn’t had the chance,” confesses sheepishly the elder archangel. Michael closes his eyes and actually prays for strength to not smite his cretin of a brother. “So how we’re going to break the spell?” hastily prompts Amenadiel correctly assuming he’s one step from being incinerated.

Michael takes a deep breath turning away from his brother and humans. There are angry tears welling in his eyes and it just wouldn’t do for them to see a display like that from him. He can’t afford to think about what Lucifer has been going through all this time.

The ground thankfully stops rumbling when he forces himself to calmly analyze the ritual. He stares somberly at an unfamiliar structure of the spell but he’s still able to recognize various clauses meant to prevent anyone from freeing the Devil. Circumventing around all of them won’t be easy... and definitely has the potential to end up tragically for all involved.

“Michael?” presses Amenadiel. “Are we going to Hell or what? How do you want to do this?”

Disgruntled he sighs and gives himself a few minutes of blessed silence by sending his brother to gather some things he needs. Fortunately, it’s enough time for him to figure out what to do. The symbolism is important in magic – Lucifer was banished from the earthly plane, so instead of trying to push him out from Hell, it’ll be more efficient to invite him back. Hopefully.

“I understand the chalk,” says Amenadiel when he’s back. “But why the hell you need clean glasses?”

“Because when you want to break a curse, the blood of whoever cast it, is always helpful,” explains Michael with a fiendish grin.

He draws his sword and in a blink of an eye, he’s upon the priest. The man offers only token resistance, somehow still able to glare but Michael pays him no mind as he swiftly slits his wrist. Dark blood quickly fills a glass; it’s enough for his purposes but it also means that the usefulness of the priest came to its end.

Michael takes a few steps back and looks at the floor. The communication between various planes of existence is a rather convoluted affair and especially the time difference with Hell causes difficulties. For some unholy reason, a formal prayer works best but it’s still more like sending messages via drunken pigeons than an actual conversation.

“Oh, Lucifer, the Star of Morning. My brother, who art in Hell,” intones Michael in sing-song. He ignores Amenadiel who face-palms, muttering something unsavory. “Hallowed be thy name, to this kingdom thee soon shall come. Our will be done, on Earth as it is in Hell. Accept this humble offering as we do not forgive our trespassers. Amen.”

And with that, he sets the priest on fire. It consumes him in a manner of seconds, sending his soul the only way it can go – to Hell. With any luck, it’ll appease Mazikeen enough to not pluck all Michael’s feathers for hogging the fun for himself.

“You promised to be merciful!” protests Chloe, her voice breaking. She stares in terror at the dark smudge on the floor which is the only thing remaining after the priest.

“I never promised you a thing. I only said that _perhaps_ I’ll be merciful,” he shrugs unperturbed.

The woman recoils from him when he moves toward her but he easily grabs her hand.

“Oh, relax, I’m not going to kill you... yet,” he says flippantly. She hisses when he cuts her wrist to gather her blood in the empty glass. “Lucifer is the wronged party here and in your case it’s personal. I’ll leave the decision on what to do with you to him.”

She looks even more terrified at the prospect of the Devil’s retribution, apparently still thinking the worst of him. The archangel regards her coolly as he stands up.

“You know, I’ll never understand your kind,” he says. “Why whenever you encounter something unique and beautiful or merely different from your boring standards of what’s normal... you react with fear, anger and this compulsive need to torment and destroy it? What’s even the point of such mindless aggression?”

Chloe doesn’t answer, not that he’s expected her to. She’s biting her lip almost to blood and her eyes are welled with tears. He wonders if her earlier vehement insistence that she did the right thing wasn’t a form of denial. After all, when her conviction will crumble, she’ll be forced to acknowledge that she’s condemned to a hellish torment someone who doesn’t deserve that, someone who genuinely had been her friend. She’s destroyed all they had beyond repair or hope of reconciliation. And for what exactly?

Burning the mark on her soul probably brought some clarity on the issue. It forced her to feel the infernal realm getting its relentless hold on her. In Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy’ the ninth circle of Hell was dedicated to traitors and oath-breakers. Of course, the poet had gotten wrong the part about Hell having circles but he was quite on point that there’s a very special place there for those who betrayed their friends. Chloe’s actions bought her one-way ticket straight there.

Michael is by no means the angel of mercy, so he leaves her to her misery without a second glance.

The priest’s notes specified that the ritual should be done in a house of worship but also a den of sin. The church fits description nicely – people might not be aware of what kind of things often go on in places like this but the archangel who actually pays attention couldn’t be deceived. Michael swiftly draws a circle on the floor and then accompanying it occult symbols... just with his own twist. Instead of a barred prison gate, now it’s an open entrance with a metaphorical ‘welcome back’ banner on top. He plucks a feather from Amenadiel and a second one from himself as a representation of empyrean power – better two archangels than just one – and places them in strategic points. Then he uses the blood of the exorcist to add few more symbols to counter ill will that exiled and bound the fallen angel. Finally, he paints a smaller circle with the blood of the miracle – it’s been her that made it all possible... so now she’ll undo it.

After he’s done, he stops, inspecting his handiwork critically. If he messed up somewhere, consequences could be unpleasant for Lucifer.

“Ready or not... here we come,” mutters Michael, hoping the warning will reach his brother in Hell.

He starts to chant an improvised incantation in Enochian – hopefully, the language of angels will add some extra punch. The lines drawn with chalk start to glow white and the ones made with blood burn crimson. He feels an intense surge of power as the very material of reality shifts at his command. Once more the ground rumbles dangerously but there’s a sensation of an incoming great force which fills Michael with elation. It’s working.

Then the church’s floor breaks and hellfire surges from the fissure. Everything stops as abruptly as it started; stillness encompasses what feels like the entire world.

And in the middle of the circle stands the Devil in his infernal form.

The bracelets on his wrists burn brightly with heavenly fire until suddenly there’s a metallic clink as they fall to the floor. Lucifer makes a pained gasp and he follows them, landing heavily on all fours; his arms are shaking with effort.

Michael gestures at Amenadiel to stay back and carefully approaches the fallen angel. Lucifer’s head snaps up and a vicious growl escapes him, his teeth bared in a defensive snarl. There’s a wild look in his glowing eyes – it’s no wonder, being subjected to a spell like this and forcefully dragged through dimensions is no fun. Additionally, his wrists look badly burned.

“It’s alright. You’re back on earth. It’s just me, I’d _never_ hurt you, Luci,” coos Michael soothingly, kneeling on the ground to get on his brother level. “Everything will be fine. You’re safe now.”

Something like a recognition flash in Lucifer’s eyes and then without warning Michael finds himself with an armful of the Devil. The impact sends him landing ungracefully on his ass (he’ll deny that ever happened until the Judgment Day) and once again he has to wave concerned Amenadiel off because he’s not being attacked.

Lucifer is trembling and clutches his twin in a death grip. The only way to tell he’s crying are his hitched breaths and a growing wet spot on Michael’s shirt. It’s heartbreakingly obvious he’s desperately trying to stay quiet so the archangel spreads his wings to shield them both from Amenadiel and Chloe. Lucifer deserves to have his moment of grief in private and not to be gawked at like an exhibit in a zoo.

Michael gingerly wraps his arms around him, attentively watching for any sign of distress. Pretty much everyone assumes that the Devil is incapable of feeling pain – they couldn’t be more wrong. Without the protection of skin Lucifer’s flesh is very sensitive, nerve endings exposed and too close to the surface. Even something as mundane as a casual touch or wearing clothes could quickly become unbearable. The only reason people believe he’s invulnerable is that he acts this way, pretending nothing can hurt him. He had no choice if he wanted to survive eons in Hell.

At this moment though the need for physical comfort overcomes any pain he definitely suffers. His wrists are bleeding after the bracelets have fallen off and his arms and torso are covered in fresh burns.

It takes Lucifer some time to collect himself and then subsequently he does the most absurd thing he can which is trying to wipe his tears from Michael’s shirt... as if that was somehow important. He frowns when he notices holes left by bullets and shots his brother a worried glance.

“It’s nothing,” he assures, making a mental note to ask later why the fuck everyone here seem to be under the impression that some human weapon could actually harm him. “May I heal you?”

Much to his relief, he nods and Michael plucks another of his feathers. In flash of brilliant light, all of the Devil’s fresh wounds are healed but he still remains in his infernal form. The archangel shots a curious glance at Lucifer’s dragon-like wings but he curls them behind himself, clearly ashamed of them. They look pretty badass but trust Satan to turn them into something to angst over.

“Can you stand?” inquiries softly Michael and when he receives another nod, he hauls them both to their feet. Lucifer sways so he promptly supports most of his weight.

“I take it you two don’t actually hate each other,” comments Amenadiel who hovers over them like an overprotective mother hen.

“What possibly gave us away?” drawls Michael, his arm and wing protectively wrapped around his exhausted twin.

“He’s the only one of you lot who went after me,” mumbles Lucifer, his eyes half closed. He leans heavily against his brother.

The archangel nods grimly. Contrary to popular belief, they never actually fought each other during the Rebellion. Gabriel had done most of the sword swinging and it was their Father who threw Lucifer to Hell. Michael has always believed that eternal damnation was way too severe price to pay for one mistake. He couldn’t bear the thought of his twin alone and hurt in that dreadful place so he went looking for him before the battle dust even settled.

“But I don’t understand,” protests Amenadiel. “I saw you fight so many times. We were worried you accidentally start Apocalypse. I mean... all of these earthquakes, fires, explosions of volcanoes... Hell, you two are the main reason why Dad has forbidden celestials to battle on the Earth.”

The twins roll their eyes at him in wry amusement.

“All of it was just for show to convince the rest of you that we hate each other,” explains Michael. “The truth is we’ve been synchronizing our holidays all this time. Mostly we were just partying or going on adventures together... or just getting drunk and bitching about our respective realms. When one of you started sniffing around we just pretended we’re fighting.”

“But... _why_?” now Amenadiel looks like someone fighting a migraine.

“My idea,” confesses Lucifer. “I was afraid he’d be banned from ever seeing me again.”

“It’s the fear I share,” admits morosely Michael.

Dad has tolerated their antics but they had no way of predicting what He’d do if the rest of Host found out. Knowing His parchment for twisted punishments, He’d do something permanent to separate them since it was what they've dreaded the most. All of those eons it's been the fear that held Michael down, forcing him into obedience.

Amenadiel just shakes his head.

“You know... I’ll go retrieve Maze from Hell before she decides to kill us all or something.”

“When you’re at it, please, inform her that I bear no responsibility for the thing in Prague in the XV century,” says Michael sweetly. “I just defenestrated the guy because he was annoying. What followed is actually on her,” he grins mischievously and pats the sword at his side. “If she wants this back, she can have it... if she can take it from me.”

Filching Maze’s favorite sword was most definitely worthy of incurring her wrath, both because of the blade’s supreme quality and entertainment value of enraging the demon. Amenadiel apparently doesn’t share that believe because his face practically screams ‘it’s your funeral’ as he flies off.

Meanwhile, Lucifer is uncharacteristically quiet as he remains slumped against his twin. His wings trail behind him like a cloak and he hasn’t even made an attempt at changing from his devilish form. He pointedly doesn’t look at Chloe who’s still on the ground near the pews. He rubs his wrist with a horrible, empty look on his face.

No matter how much they may wish to the contrary, some things just can’t be so easily fixed.

“It’s over, little brother,” reassures Michael, gently taking hold of his wrist simultaneously trying to get his attention and stop him from hurting himself. “You’re home.”

Lucifer nods but his eyes stay dull which is quite an achievement considering they’re alight with hellfire. He throws a fugitive glance at Chloe and then quickly looks down.

“Do you want me to do something about her?” asks Michael.

“Just... _leave_ _her be_ ,” says Lucifer and quickly adds before his brother can react, as if he were justifying his decision in advance. “She has a young spawn. The child deserves better than to grow up motherless.”

“You’re such a softie,” sighs the archangel fondly.

Honestly, he’s been expecting that but now he’s even more worried. After his first fall, Lucifer was furious; he let Michael heal him back then and then promptly yelled at him and punched him in the face. Regaining his trust took centuries. Now, he’s not even angry, only resigned to being mistreated.

“I won’t kill her,” promises Michael. “Give me a moment, okay?”

With that, he leaves Lucifer and stalks to Chloe. At this point, she seems too exhausted to be afraid but still she presses herself to the nearest pew. Michael hates her with passion for this dead look she put in his brother's eyes but he’s going to abide by his wishes. At this stage arguing the point probably would have caused only more damage anyway.

“New ground rules,” he informs her frostily. “From this day on you won’t go _anywhere near_ Lucifer or contact him in any way, unless you have his _explicit_ permission. Even then you’re not allowed to see him unsupervised by either me, Amenadiel or Maze. Take this as a celestial restraining order. If you break those rules I will _kill_ you. Am I making myself clear?”

She nods hastily.

“Crystal,” she blinks owlishly. “You’ll just let me go?”

“It’s what Lucifer wants,” he admits and smirks sinisterly. “But you’re still marked for Hell and I’m immortal. What are a few decades for me?” He watches as the horror of that downs on her. Living with that hanging over her like the sword of Damocles could easily count as psychological torture of the highest order. “And besides I make no promises for Maze. I’ve heard she’s on a warpath.”

He doesn’t spare her another glance as he turns back to Lucifer who’s been watching the whole interaction with an unreadable look on his face.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” he asks and in a flurry of wings, they fly away.


	4. Death To The Holy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mazikeen of the Lilim has a serious chat with Chloe. Lucifer broods a lot but Michael interrupts. Daniel has a bad shock and Linda is her usual awesome self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for attention, kudos, comments etc. etc. You’ve made the struggle of writing worthwhile. You’re all awesome. 
> 
> Credit for the chapter’s title goes to Xandria. 
> 
> I promised someone there’d be fluff in the last chapter... Weeell, let’s say I managed to get to the comfort side of the hurt/comfort. And then somehow I hit a cracky territory... don’t question it, it’s how my crazy brain works.

Chloe pays her Uber driver and limps to her apartment. Her ankle thankfully isn’t broken only sprained but she’s ended up delegated to the desk duty anyway. The cut on her wrist heals nicely and shouldn’t scar overly much.

It’s been almost a week since the events in the church. Father Kinley is now presumed missing; apparently, when you’ve incurred the wrath of an archangel there won’t be enough of you left to find any genetic matter in the smudge on the floor, let alone to identify and bury.

In all this time she hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Lucifer... or any other angel or demon that roam LA.

She fumbles with her keys, absently rubbing her sternum. There isn’t any visible mark here... but she can still feel it, endlessly burning something deep down within her. It’s like a constant, dark weight on her chest filling her with fear; there’s something hopeless and desperate about it that makes her relieve all her guilt...

She does her best to ignore all of that. She _fails_.

It’s only gotten worse after a phone call from furious Linda a few days ago. She had no idea the therapist could even get this mad as she told her precisely what she thinks about her and her actions. Note for the future: don’t piss off psychologists, they know where to hit to make it hurt. In later days the tension got so palpable even Ella picked on it and started to ask about Lucifer. For some reason, her big, innocent eyes made everything even worse than Linda’s angry accusations.

Finally, she manages to open the door to her apartment and promptly freezes when she sees Maze sprawled on the couch. She’s almost relieved – waiting for the demon to reappear was nerve wrenching, her silence sinister.

“Howdy, back-stabber,” Maze’s grin makes her think of all things angry, toothy and bloodthirsty.

The demon stands up gracefully and prowls toward her – Chloe’s too petrified to move. Maze grabs her by the front of her shirt and forcefully drags her into the apartment and slams the door shut with a kick. She flinches at the sharp noise.

“I was only picking up the rest of my stuff... After all, I’m not going to spend even one night under the same roof as you,” she informs her. “But then I’ve decided we need to have a chat.”

“What do you want?” asks Chloe.

“What do I want?” Maze’s lips twist showing her teeth. “I want to know what you had planned for _me_? I mean... why stop at only one betrayal?”

“I... I...” Chloe starts to back away as the demon takes a step toward her.

“Yes, you...” taunts Maze. “Go on. Spill it. Don’t be shy.”

“We planned to lure you in and send you to Hell after... after we had dealt with Lucifer,” she admits in defeat.

Maze nods clearly not surprised and then... then her face morph. Instead of smooth bronze skin, half of it is nothing but rotten, exposed flesh and sinew... her teeth are visible through decaying skin, one of her eyes is milky white.

Chloe gasps in horror. She presses herself to the wall at this monstrosity because surely nothing looking like this can still be alive...

“What’s the matter?” asks Maze in mock sweetness. The pink tongue flashes obscenely behind her torn flesh. “You no longer think I’m beautiful?” In one move, too quick for mortal eyes to register, she’s in front of Chloe and ruthlessly grabs her jaw forcing her to look at her. “Get used to it,” she snarls, her voice low and gravelly. “I can smell the sweet stench of damnation on you. Tomorrow or in fifty years from now, it’s what awaits you in Hell.”

“I... I didn’t know...” protest weakly Chloe, her knees feel like rubber.

“No, you didn’t,” agrees harshly Maze, letting her go. “You haven’t even _tried_ , have you? You’re not a Christian so why go to the fucking Vatican? Why blindly trust their hysterical tales when Islamic and Jewish sources offer a much more ambiguous picture? Why not check what the pagans have to tell about the Ruler of the Underworld? Was it too much of an effort to do thorough research instead of jumping to the conclusion?”

“I didn’t think...”

“Clearly,” Maze interrupts darkly. “And this priest of yours... you haven’t done a background check on him. Time in Hell goes much faster than here so I had _ages_ to torture him,” her smirk looks absolutely ghastly on her half-rotten face. “Oh, the things I found out about him... You see, Lucifer outlawed demonic possession millennia ago. The only ‘demons’ the preacher had fought were nothing more than mentally ill people, who needed actual help, not a charlatan exorcist. You won’t believe how many lives he’s destroyed... he’s even responsible for the death of a child Trixie’s age.”

She stops, letting this sink and Chloe needs to lean on the wall to not fall down.

“I didn’t know,” she repeats lamely.

“Only because you didn’t _bother_ to look under the mask of piousness. The answers were right there under your nose,” growls Maze. “I’ve always known you’re a self-righteous, judgmental bitch, but I’ve never taken you for an idiot. Not very often you see someone moronic enough to piss off both Heaven and Hell in one move.”

Chloe needs to swallow a few times before she manages to make her vocal cords work.

“How’s... how’s Lucifer?” she asks softly.

She had been trying so hard to convince herself that she’d done the right thing, that she had fought evil... all this time she knew that if she’d allow herself any doubt, she’ll crumble. The intervention of two angels forced her to face reality in which she betrayed and badly hurt a friend. Now she can’t stop thinking what happened to him in Hell to leave him crying in his brother’s arms – and that she’s the one responsible for this.

She almost jumps out of her skin when furious Maze punches a hole in the wall near her face.

“You have lost the right to ask that,” she snarls viciously. “Lucifer can be an asshole... but he’s also _my_ asshole. No one else is allowed to torment him... and especially not you. He’s never done anything to deserve that from you. Back-stabbing someone who trusted and loved you is low even by the demon standards.”

Chloe nods shakily and Maze turns probably intending to leave.

“Oh, by the way, you can still _earn_ an absolution...” informs her the demon. “If you somehow redeem yourself.”

“What?” now Chloe is confused. “You’re telling me this just out of the goodness of your heart?”

“No,” chortles amused Maze. “Shortly before his abdication Lucifer had a bit of a spat with the Dream King. Morpheus asked then: ‘What power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream of Heaven?’(2) He was right, of course. I’ve long since realized that hope is the most sublime form of torture. Here you have it... enjoy the struggle.”

Clearly pleased with herself Maze heads toward the door which burst open in this precise moment.

“Maze!” calls happily Trixie. “Oh, you still have your Halloween costume. It’s so cool! Where have you been all this time?”

Paralyzed Chloe watches as her daughter hugs the demon, not in the slightest perturbed by her monstrous visage. Maze gently pats her head.

“I’ve been busy babysitting three idiot angels, little human,” she answers with humor. “I need to go, check if they didn’t do anything too stupid in my absence,” she shots Chloe a threatening glare over Trixie. “But if you need me for _anything_ , just give me a call. I’ll be here for you.”

The demon hugs the girl and marches from the apartment, leaving Chloe even more confused. A bit too late she realizes how little she really knows.

And that she’ll probably never be able to find a way to make up for her ignorance.

* * *

Absentmindedly Lucifer plays a melancholic tune on his piano. His long, sharp claws make it something of a struggle but he persists stubbornly.

Even though it’s been six days since his brothers managed to free him from Hell, he still hasn’t been able to turn back into his angelic form. The place in his soul where he’s been reaching before to summon it now remains burned out and empty. It’s quite a bother because looking like this he’s confined to the penthouse, away from his usual distractions.

He’s never liked being left to his own thoughts for too long. Now more so than ever...

Of course, his family has been trying to help which on few occasions took rather peculiar forms. So far Amenadiel bringing a chicken soup absolutely takes the cake. His eldest brother very solemnly informed him that it’s what the humans do when one of them feels off. Michael turned out to be spectacularly unhelpful because, after one look at his earnest face, he dissolved into uncontrollable guffaws of laughter and run away to chortle in peace on the balcony. Ultimately, it was left to Lucifer to explain that: ‘No, Dad damn it, Amenadiel! Being stuck in the Devil form is not the same as bloody flu!’

Dealing with both of his brothers at the same time was like herding cats but admittedly they’ve been well behaved... at least for their standards. Normally Michael and Amenadiel each believed the other is the biggest dick among the angelic Host and neither was particularly shy about his opinions. They’ve probably decided to cease fire for Lucifer’s sake or maybe they’ve been more relaxed away from the oppressive atmosphere of Silver City.

Or perhaps torturing misbehaving humans and using their blood to summon the Devil in a church of all places has worked miracles as a bonding activity for the celestial family. Who knows... Lucifer doesn’t want to question it because he has no energy to separate them if they started brawling.

He reaches for the glass of whiskey and curses silently when he discovers it’s empty. He stops his halfhearted plucking at the keys and stands up to get a refill. He winces immediately as his abrupt move aggravates his burns. They've healed thanks to Michael’s feather but his flesh remains tender which is the reason why he’s wearing only silky boxers and nothing else.

What’s even the point of being dressed up to the nines when he looks like an overcooked lasagna and the only ones seeing him are his brothers and Maze? He’s too sore to even try. In Hell he had no choice but to function... more or less; now that he’s safe, his body relentlessly reminds him of every injury and scar he’s accumulated.

He steels himself as he stiffly hobbles to the bar. He pours two fingers of whiskey but then he changes his mind and makes it a whole glass. The sloshing of liquor reverberates loudly around the empty penthouse which feels oddly desolate.

So far the unholy trinity of two archangels and a demon has been operating on some schedule he’s not privy to, making sure he’s not been left alone even for a moment. Obviously, it annoyed him more than once. A few hours ago Michael announced he has something he needs to do (Lucifer chose not to ask what) and Amenadiel decided to tag along and they flew off; later Maze disappeared somewhere (he didn’t ask her where she’s going either).

There’s no one around and he feels disquieted by stillness and silence of his home, wishing they were back. Nonetheless, he has no right to ask any of them to further postpone their lives for him...

Suddenly there’s a beat of large wings and Lucifer tenses involuntarily as adrenaline shots through his veins. He slumps against the bar in relief when he sees it’s only Michael landing gracefully on the balcony. He wonders idly how long will it take him to stop jumping at shadows...

“Luci, would you mind if I stayed at your place for a while?” asks Michael, casually strolling toward his brother. “For a rather prolonged time, I mean.”

“Not at all,” Lucifer narrows his eyes askance. Truth be told, he’s been growing stomach ulcers, despondently awaiting the day when his brother would ineluctably have to leave. He has no choice but to accept that. Now he’s surprised, though. “What about your duties in Silver City?”

“Don’t worry about that. Everything’s being taken care of,” assures nonchalantly Michael. “Oh, is that some new kind of whiskey? It has such a lovely color.”

He’d sound a little bit more convincing if his left eye didn’t twitch which of course makes the Devil even more suspicious. It’s an unfortunate tick they share when they’re being equivocal or someone catches them on doing something they feel emotional about. Moreover, they’ve spent eons deceiving other angels. Their kin being suddenly fine with the twins just hanging out is as probable as drought on the bottom of an ocean.

“Michael, _what_ did you do?” asks Lucifer crossing his arms. The archangel shots him a mutinous glare so he adds seriously: “I’m older than you.”

They had been created at precisely the same moment but then Lucifer was banished to Hell where time flows much faster than in any other realm. Consequently, now he’s considerably older than any other angel, Amenadiel and Michael included. It’s a card he rarely uses since they’ve always acted as if he was the little brother.

“Oh please,” scoffs cheekily Michael, not sufficiently impressed... and in this case ‘not sufficiently’ means not in the slightest. “Just trust me that it’s for the best if Amenadiel and I will stay on the Earth.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. If he weren’t the literal Devil, he’d be praying for strength to deal with this curly-haired menace.

“Brother, tell me what have you done,” he insists, determined to pester him until he relents. “I’d rather know, if I’m to expect an angry mob of angels using my balcony as a landing spot,” When in response he only gets a languid blink of overly innocent, dark eyes, he employs the heavy guns: “Either you will tell me or I’ll ask Amenadiel and we both know, he’ll spill.”

The archangel all but pouts at him but after a moment he comes to the conclusion that he’s only delaying the inevitable. He huffs clearly displeased.

“We might have had a _tiny_ bit of a disagreement with Dad,” he confesses reluctantly.

“Oh God...” groans the Devil. This doesn’t bode well at all.

“Yes, Him,” scoffs Michael with disdain. “I might or might have not called Him a vainglorious, sadistic _arsemonger_ with an inflated ego inversely proportional to his godhood.”

Lucifer who chose this moment to take a large gulp of the whiskey, promptly chocks on it and a small fountain of liquor erupts from his mouth and nose. Rattled he almost drops his glass but his reprobate of a brother makes a dive for it and rescues it in time.

 _“You did what?”_ wheezes the Devil, trying to cough out the whiskey from his lungs.

“Just gave Him a piece of my mind,” shrugs Michael, cool as a cucumber. The smug bastard actually takes a sip from the glass he expropriated. “Oh, and I’ve thrown my resignation in His face.”

Lucifer stares at him in mute horror. Then he looks out of the window sort of expecting to see Gabriel blowing his trumpet to announce the Apocalypse... or at least boiling oceans of blood and a plague of locusts but surprisingly nothing appears to be out of the ordinary.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” he screeches, his voice at least an octave higher than normal. “He’ll punish you for this.”

If the angels could have heart attacks, he’d be getting one right now. He’s an expert on what Dad’s revenge is like and he’d rather willingly dive into the lake of flame and sulfur than see his brother on the receiving end of His wrath.

Lucifer reaches to him to reassure himself that he’s really here, safe and sound, but then he halts seeing his own scorched hand. Normally, the fact they’re identical is only an endless source of amusement but right now Michael’s angelic looks only remind him of what he’s lost and draw attention to his own hideousness. It feels somewhat sacrilegious to touch him.

Ultimately it’s the archangel who closes the gap between them and wraps his arms around the Devil in a light embrace. He relaxes instinctively – usually displays of affection make him uneasy but with Michael he always knows where he stands.

“Lucifer, calm down,” he says. “There’s no reason to panic.”

He snorts because personally angering Dad is most definitely a great reason to panic.

“Whatever possessed you to do something like this?” he asks, taking a step back after he managed to get himself under control.

“I’ve left Heaven and I’m _not_ going back. Let’s just leave it at that for now,” Michael is as close to begging as he’s capable.

Usually, he’s the reasonable one of the two of them, less prone to reckless, impulsive decisions... that is, until his fiery temper doesn’t take over and any semblance of sense goes out of the window. It’s also obvious he fears that his brother is too fragile to handle the truth.

“You went to confront Dad about what happened, didn’t you?” says Lucifer resignedly. “Just spill it, Mike, and let’s get this over with.”

“Yes,” confirms Michael with the air of someone doing something against their better judgment. “The ritual got me wondering. It required a literal miracle to work and they simply don’t happen nowadays. So I asked Dad why He put Chloe on your path. He said He knew that you’ll retire from Hell and settle in LA. According to Him, you’ve abused his generosity of allowing you short trips to Earth. So He decided to correct this by making your stay in Hell a permanent one. She is nothing but a Trojan horse set up specifically for you. I am so, so sorry, Luci.”

“Oh,” he only gasps softly.

He actually needs to grab the edge of the bar to keep himself upright, suddenly feeling as if the floor disappeared from under him. When he’s abandoned Hell to never return, he expected the divine retribution sooner or later... but not this.

“I’m sorry,” repeats miserably Michael who evidently regrets telling him.

Not that he should, Lucifer prefers knowing even the ugliest truth than living in a lie... And yet having a confirmation that his Father considers him so completely irredeemable leaves him strangely empty. It shouldn’t come as a surprise but... it also means that everything he had with... with _her_ was nothing but an illusion. The reasons for that are different than he originally assumed – apparently, it wasn’t her free will that got impaired here. It was _his_ when he compulsively followed her around like a lost puppy heading straight toward his own doom.

“Where have you lost Amenadiel?” he asks with an eerie calm.

“He’s downstairs with a bit of existential crisis. He seems determined to drink your whole supply of liquor,” explains Michael, who’s been hovering anxiously by his side the whole time. “Lucifer...”

The Devil turns away from him, staring bleakly at the wall.

“You should take him and try to _reconcile_ with Dad,” he annunciates still in the same flat tone.

“Like hell I am!” bristles his brother. “There’s no way either of us will continue to serve the regime that stoops so low.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he counters harshly. “You know how Dad is. He’ll punish you for defying Him. And you can’t give up your home...” he chokes. ‘ _You’ll_ hate _me for it when you’ll realize the mistake you’ve made_ ’ he adds in privacy on his own mind.

“Luci...” starts Michael softly. “Amenadiel decided to stay on the Earth long before this fiasco and he has a fledgling on the way. As for me... I’m done with pretending I’m trying to hurt you just so we can spend some time together. I’m done with living in fear. You know I’ve been miserable in Heaven for the longest time and this time Dad went too far. I’ve made my choice and I’m choosing you.”

Lucifer violently turns to him, his bat-like wings aggressively spread and eyes blazing with hellfire. Menacingly he takes a step toward his brother, crowding his personal space as the very air in the penthouse seems to shimmer in his fury. Most humans would lose their minds at such a display or at least soiled their pants... probably both.

The only reaction he gets from Michael is a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t even bother to tense in an anticipation of a potential threat, his hands remain lose at his sides. He only watches him with sad eyes.

“Just look at me,” growls Lucifer trying to make him see the reason. “Do you want to end up like this, hm? Or do you imagine Dad will just let your impertinence slide?”

Michael makes a point of unflinchingly looking at Lucifer’s scars before he shakes his head stubbornly.

“I’m aware of potential repercussions and I’ve made an informed decision,” he declares softly but firmly. “It’s my choice and you’re _worth_ it.”

Lucifer does a heroic effort to swallow some pathetic noise of despair that raises in his throat. He marches off to the balcony where he grips a railing with shaking hands. His vision blurs with tears he tries not to shed. He doesn’t know what to do with this declaration and he’s terrified of their Father’s anger. He’s also aware of how stubborn his twin is.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he argues, blinking furiously. “I destroy everything I touch. I’m like poison for anyone stupid enough to stay close to me. I... I _hate_ myself for that,” he confesses desperately.

He more senses than actually hears the archangel slowly coming closer.

“Why do you believe that?” he asks far too calmly.

“Really...” scoffs bitterly the Devil. “Have you somehow forgotten I’ve destroyed our family? There was this little event called Rebellion. Things got rather bloody at some point if you care to remember.”

“I was there, Lucifer. I was there eighty thousand years ago,” intones gravely Michael.

The Devil stops gazing broodingly at the horizon and turns around to look at him incredulously. His idiotic twin didn’t just go full on Elrond on him... Yes, he absolutely did if the slight twitching of his lips is any indicator. This cheeky little shit...

“Your Rebellion didn’t destroy our family, it was broken long before that,” Michael continues, getting serious. “Dad treated us like toys and Mom was taking out Her frustration on us. In turn, all of us contributed in some way or form either by aggravating the situation or by doing nothing. Setting things on fire admittedly wasn’t the best idea you ever had but no one’s perfect,” he takes a deep breath. “My point is, all of us share the responsibility but it’s convenient to dump the whole blame on you. It’s not fair to you and you deserve better.”

Lucifer squeezes his eyes shut. It’s true that their parents’ endless fights made them all suffer but somehow no one else went on a rampage.

“That’s sweet of you to think so,” he mutters. “But I don’t see the rest of our siblings sharing your opinion.”

“Most of the angels wouldn’t recognize an original thought if it danced naked in front of them,” shrugs Michael, not hiding his contempt. “No matter how harshly you’re judging your own actions, you’ve paid for them thousands times over. Dad punishing you further is just petty... and cruel. And it needs to stop.”

Lucifer swallows harshly around a lump that formed in his throat. He wants to believe Michael but he can’t – he knows, he’s wrong.

“Dad was _right_ about me from the beginning,” he confesses somberly. “You think you know me but you don’t. You haven’t seen all the things I had done in Hell, the atrocities I had committed... the torments I had bestowed upon souls. And I’ve enjoyed it,” he adds in a broken whisper.

Not all the time, no, but some sinners were so rotten with the evil that Lucifer took delight in tearing them apart without end until there was nothing left of them. He doesn’t regret that, not truly, but it’s still like a black hole in his own soul. Only a monster could enjoy acts like that. He deserves to be away from all that’s bright and beautiful... He deserves to be in the darkness of Hell where everything is vile and he can’t corrupt anything else with his touch.

“Punishing the wicked was literally your job description,” points out Michael who remains annoyingly unperturbed. “You had _no choice_. You’d probably lose your mind if you didn’t let yourself go and take satisfaction from your work. Don’t blame yourself for what you needed to survive,” he nudges Lucifer lightly. “And don’t forget about all those souls you saved and released to Heaven. It wasn’t required of you but you had been doing it anyway for ages.”

Lucifer scowls at him for bringing this up. Some souls ended up in Hell because some ridiculous norms and principles made them blame themselves for things they couldn’t control or weren’t wrong in the first place. Others, like the suicides, were condemned by Dad’s arbitrary, harsh rules. And some sinners... well, while they deserved punishment, the eternity of torture was a bit too harsh so he released them after they’d atoned.

Unfortunately, there have always been more souls who shouldn’t suffer in Hell and that made his task insurmountable. On his own, he wouldn’t even be able to save anyone without Michael discreetly allowing them entrance to Heaven. His actions have never been enough and humanity couldn’t count on justice in the afterlife... unless he worked constantly to fix it. And he has failed. He couldn’t do this anymore.

“Luci, this world is a fucked up place by design,” says Michael, apparently reading him like an open book. “Dad’s made it so and we both know He doesn’t take well to constructive criticism,” he shudders at the memory and Lucifer can’t help but do the same. That’s unfortunately true. “You’ve done more to improve it than any other angel. You’re quite _the bringer of light_ in my humble opinion.”

Lucifer watches him with a bitter look in his eyes.

“Then why everything I touch, I ruin?” he snaps angrily. He’s not mad at his twin, only at himself for allowing himself to believe otherwise even for a moment.

“Like what?”

The question hits him like a punch in the gut; his eyes once again flash with hellfire. There’s an odd burning feeling in a pit of his stomach and he wants it gone but it stays no matter what he does. He can’t stay still any longer so he starts pacing, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

“I have ruined _her_ ,” he growls, his voice strained. He’s been avoiding like a plague saying her name since his fall but he doesn’t need to clarify who he has on the mind. “She is damned now _because_ of me.”

He wants to beg his brother to reverse his judgment... and yet something dark and resentful in him only nods with cold approval, keeping him silent. He hates himself even more for it.

“Last I’ve checked, it was her own poor decision-making that’s done that. Some people suffer in Hell for much less,” observes coolly Michael. “You’re not responsible for that.”

The Devil glares at him, wishing it was this simple.

“It wouldn’t have happened if she’s never met me,” he spats, self-recrimination filling his voice. “I should have never allowed myself to get close to her.”

He doesn’t even know what else he’s expected. He has an uncanny ability to poison everything around himself. It was pure selfishness on his part to assume this time would be different and he can build something wonderful with her. Of course, now she’s damned for it – she was right when she deemed him a monster.

Some part of him wishes they just could go back to how things were before everything has gone so wrong, to pretend it’s all fine... that what happened doesn’t matter. But it’s not possible. The mere thought about being anywhere near _her_ makes a cold fear turn his limbs into stone. He can’t shake off memories of being utterly helpless in that church, his vulnerability ruthlessly exploited. This whole time _she_ wouldn’t even look him in the eye, not bothering to acknowledge him as a person and consequently making him feel lower than dirt. His heart hurts at the memory.

He’s not even aware that once again he’s shakily clawing his own wrists until Michael carefully approaches him and lightly grasps his hands. He flinches but allows him to start rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs.

His breathing finally slows down a little as he fixedly stares at his red, covered in abrasions skin. It’s uglier than sin but blessedly free from any accursed bracelets.

“I’m the Devil,” he mumbles. “It’s only natural she tried to protect herself.”

“From what?” inquires Michael. “Have you done _anything_ to threaten her or someone she cares about?”

“Of course not!” he protests aghast. He’s not that kind of monster who hurts innocent people... and he has never been.

“Then why being the Devil should serve as an excuse for hurting you?”

Lucifer snorts, staring glumly at the marble floor. Michael is venerated as a holy archangel, he’ll never understand what it’s like to be perceived as the embodiment of all evil. All she’s done was to send him to Hell where, according to pretty much everyone including their family, he should perish.

She’s not responsible for his inability to cope with being trapped there. Except for the burns sustained during his initial fall and some battle wounds, all of his injuries are self-inflicted. He has no one to blame for being incinerated countless times but his own malfunctioning sanity; stupefying pain didn’t help either. Still, it’s not like it was _her_ doing, she couldn’t have known how the spell works. At least he hopes so, the alternative is too grim.

His self-destructive behavior had been going on until Amenadiel and Mazikeen arrived, and the demon deterred him from hurting himself further. Without the distraction of pain, he’d fallen into the darkest depression and only thanks to her nothing worse happened to him. He’ll probably never be able to repay Maze – if other demons had managed to capture him, his fate would’ve been considerably worse than death.

“She’s just a pawn,” he insists, instead of answering his brother’s earlier question.

“She’s made her choices of her own free will,” counters Michael. “Please, don’t ask me to lift her punishment because I’m not going to. If our roles were reversed, you’d do the same.”

Lucifer doesn’t answer because if that had been the case, he wouldn’t show any mercy at all. Instead of a suspended sentence and subsequently a chance for the redemption, he’d drag the responsible party to Hell and personally demonstrate them why the Devil is feared even by the demons.

He shots an uneasy look at a spot on Michael’s chest where he noticed bullet holes in his shirt. He still can see them in his mind’s eyes even though his brother changed his clothes since then. Naturally, he’s invulnerable to the human weapons but thanks to Lucifer’s glitches in immortality, she couldn’t have known that. She was shooting to kill.

This knowledge sits ill with him, no matter what the circumstances were.

“Maze tells me Chloe is a detective and a competent one and yet she utterly failed at learning anything about you,” adds Michael, narrowing his eyes. “Methinks, she judged you on the first glance and never bothered to look for the truth only for the evidence confirming what she thought.”

It’s pretty accurate observation all things considered and Lucifer looks down dejectedly. He’s always known that his infernal side is beyond repulsive. He doesn’t blame anyone for running away screaming but has _she_ really had to punish him for it? Is everything they went through together was so _meaningless_ , she immediately assumed the worst of him?

But what right he has to hold it against her when all the world unanimously condemns him?

“You’re _not_ obliged to forgive someone who wronged you,” says Michael. “It doesn’t make you a bad person if you can’t or simply refuse to. You have every right to your anger.”

Lucifer blinks bewildered, his throat oddly closed up. It’s such a novel concept... Normally, he’s just told to quit whining and playing a victim, and that’s the good case scenario. Even more often than that he hears that he actually _deserves_ whatever happened and that he brought it upon himself.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times too stunned to come up with anything intelligent to say. Some halfhearted denials just die on his lips and his eyes burn suspiciously.

“You have right to justice,” continues Michael. “I’m sorry you’ve never could count on it.”

“It wasn’t your doing,” finally manages Lucifer after few futile attempts.

“No, but I failed to stand up for you as I should,” admits Michael.

The Devil squeezes his hand in reassurance, still too choked up to speak, his thoughts and feelings in complete disarray. For some time they stand in silence, each lost in his own ruminations and then the archangel suddenly grins impishly.

“Today shall forever be remembered as the day when your hair was messier than mine, little brother,” he announces with fake seriousness and ruffles Lucifer’s curls.

Wait...

Stunned Lucifer stares at his own hands – they look perfectly ordinary, without any scars, skin tan, and whole. A disbelieving chuckle escapes him as he frantically touches his face, his hair. He needs to make sure... but he feels only smoothness of the skin, scratch of the stubble, his hair are soft and probably indeed messy. Everything went back to normal, he’s no longer trapped in his infernal shape.

“You’ve been morphing for some time now,” explains smiling Michael. “I was curious how long it’d take you to notice.”

Lucifer can’t help but laugh, eyes wide. In the window he sees his own reflection beaming at him in surprise and delight. His Devil form is still there, hidden within his soul but once again it’s at his command; he can summon and dismiss it at will.

“Right,” mutters Lucifer, elation making it hard to keep still. “You know, after careful consideration I’ve decided to let you stay here,” he announces with mock solemnity. “I’ve been considering opening a pet shelter for stray angels, anyway.”

“Well, at least I don’t require a litter box,” answers Michael without missing a beat. “And you can keep me happy on purely liquor diet. But I’m afraid a weekly wing preening is an absolute must.”

“You’re such a spoiled princeling,” he snorts amused.

“Yes, but you’re the one who spoiled me so I’m afraid, no returns are available,” he shrugs.

“So true,” snickers Lucifer. “Speaking of stray angels... We should retrieve Amenadiel from LUX. You wouldn’t believe the ideas he sometimes comes up with when he broods unsupervised.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t tell him about the time when we swapped places and no one noticed,” muses Michael.

Neither side realized they’d done that with the notable exception of Maze who was torn between amusement and calling them both idiots. By all accounts, the archangel had the time of his life ordering around an army of demons in Hell. The Devil didn’t dare to go to Heaven but he enjoyed himself immensely taking over a group of angels who’d been ordered to ensure the Israelites’ release from Egypt... burning bushes and all the rest. Amenadiel never realized that they had the wrong twin among them, even when Lucifer went for his signature light and darkness show on the desert.

“You’re right, we definitively shouldn’t,” he agrees, nodding gravely.

They exchange glances and grin devilishly in unison. Oh, they’re absolutely going to tell him. It’d be irresponsible of them to allow their elder brother to deal with a Dad incurred existential crisis – let’s give him a proper one instead.

Lucifer wears only the boxers so he makes a quick run to the closed. He gives himself a critical once-over, still marveling at his change after so many ages in Hell stuck in the Devil form. He’s a little bit too pale, his eyes are bloodshot and there are dark circles under them, but it’s nothing a night of good sleep won’t fix. He scowls at his hair because sadly Michael wasn’t joking when he said they’re messier than his. Oh, the horror of that...

And then he hears the ping of the elevator doors.

“Lucifer, you dick!” he hears Daniel yelling as he enters the penthouse. “Thanks to your stupid prank, the whole LAPD gives me calls with fucking Chewbacca roars.”

Lucifer freezes one leg in his trousers. Thanks to his impromptu trip to Hell, he’s completely forgotten about spreading those posters all over the precinct. His favorite frenemy has been mad at him recently, apparently blaming him for poor Charlotte’s untimely death. Lucifer has tried to bring back their earlier dynamic by pranking him twice as much as usual. Sadly, for some reason, it’s only made Daniel even more furious. Humans are so complicated...

“Alright, an angry attractive man who looks as if he wanted to punch me in the face...” drawls Michael. “I don’t have the faintest what I’m being accused of but I’m fairly certain my identical twin did it.”

Lucifer closes his eyes in despair because he didn’t just go for the twin card... He starts to quickly pull up his trousers – he loves pranks but abandoning the Douche in one room with playful Michael is probably too much.

“Seriously?” explodes Daniel. “I know you think I’m an idiot but do you really...”

He stops abruptly when Lucifer hurriedly enters the living room. His eyes go comically round and almost bulge out of his head, his mouth hangs open – the Devil regrets he doesn’t have his phone because the look on Daniel’s face deserves to be preserved for all posterity.

“I see you’ve met my brother, Michael,” he greets him amiably, standing by his twin side. “Mike, this is Daniel the Douche.”

The poor man looks like he was doing a quick mental check to remember if he’s consumed some strong drugs or suffered concussion or anything to justify why he’s seeing double.

“Oh God,” he bemoans in totally unfounded terror. “There are two of you.”

“Well, Mom and Dad achieved perfection on their second try, so they’ve made two copies,” answers flippantly Lucifer.

Daniel looks back and forth between them apparently playing the game of seeking five differences and failing miserably. Not that there are any, aside from their clothes – even their hair are in a similar state of artistic mess.

“Oh God,” repeats weakly Daniel.

“Yes, I’m afraid He’s responsible,” agrees Michael and gives the Douche a contemplative look. “Luci, you sly old dog, you should have told me you have such cute friends. I’d visit sooner.”

“Oh, God!” Daniel wails brokenly for the third time, not that it helps his predicament. “You know, never mind Chewbacca, I need to... be somewhere else.”

With that, he practically runs to the elevator as a man possessed almost tripping over his own feet.

Lucifer can’t help himself. He bursts out laughing.

* * *

“...and this is how I’ve acquired an undomesticated angel, doctor,” finishes Lucifer. He rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “I’ll probably never live down that line about the angel pet shelter, though. He actually started to bring home pretty humans, he thinks I might enjoy meeting.”

Linda takes her time mulling over his slightly chaotic tale. He might have skimmed around the gorier parts but he has a bad feeling she’s gathered more from his evasiveness than he’d like. In almost a week he’s spent capped up in the penthouse he adamantly refused to see any humans but Amenadiel and Maze probably gave her a recap of his misadventures.

“I’m glad to hear that you get along with some of your family,” she says finally.

He grins amused. Yesterday, when they went to look for Amenadiel, they indeed found him well in his cups in LUX. Somehow all three of them ended up laying waste to the whole stash of the club’s liquor. Maze wasn’t impressed when she reappeared – she was mad they didn’t wait for her with a celebratory drink which didn’t stop her from joining. Amenadiel, the light-weight that he is, passed out as the first. They couldn’t help themselves and put makeup on him... and then wrapped him in toilet paper in imitation of a mummy. His outraged squawking this morning was something to behold.

Unfortunately, one look at Linda’s face tells him that the seriousness is coming.

“And I hear there is more of the family to come. My congratulations once again, dear Linda,” he grins at her disarmingly, hoping to distract her.

“Yes, well...” she smiles and reflectively puts her hand on her stomach. “Thank you. I’m still coming to terms with that. Amenadiel and Maze have been... helpful.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” he snickers. A mental image of the tiny doctor commandeering an overprotective angel-demon duo is hilarious. It’s like a canary herding a couple of hawks.

“Lucifer,” she starts seriously and he groans inwardly. “I’m so very sorry to hear what happened to you. There’s _no_ justification, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Well...” he crosses his legs and painstakingly avoids her compassionate gaze. He chuckles nervously. “In my case being randomly exorcised counts as one of the job risks. No one has ever succeeded, though... until now that is.”

Honestly, when he introduced Michael to some magicians and witches over the ages, he’s done it as a joke, since whole Heaven strongly disapproved magic in all forms. He never thought that one day it’ll turn out to be his salvation.

“Nonetheless, it’s _not_ acceptable,” Linda insists and he clearly hears a note of anger in her voice.

He still doesn’t know how to act when people are getting protective over him. It feels almost against the natural order of things. He’s equally puzzled by Miss Lopez sending him funny cats and dogs to cheer him up, apparently operating under an assumption he’s on sick leave. Inexplicably it actually works.

“I’ve noticed, you’ve not said Chloe’s name even once,” Linda points out gently.

He immediately starts to play with his cufflinks which are a true blessing as they help to divert his attention from anxiously rubbing his wrists. On Earth passed less than an hour but for him, in Hell, it had been literally ages. In that time he apparently developed new nervous habits. Oh, joy...

“I don’t want to talk about _her_ ,” he protests sullenly, fidgeting in his place.

The conversation with Michael helped and put new perspective on issues he hasn’t questioned in ages. Unfortunately, he still experiences odd mood swings at rather inconvenient times, especially when _she_ is mentioned... Or when the elevator’s doors ping... or when he gets a text message or a phone call... He’s been virtually giving himself anxiety as his first thought is often that it might be _her_. Rationally he knows that she wouldn’t be so stupid to break ‘the celestial restraining order’, but his instincts are still in shambles after Hell.

She’s become such an integral part of his life... now he sees her _everywhere_. And he wants this to stop – not to talk about her even more.

“Alright,” agrees Linda easily. “Have you thought about what are you going to do now?”

“I’m in a search for a new hobby,” confesses Lucifer. “Working for the LAPD is obviously out of the question. I can’t be anywhere near her.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Not per se,” he confesses. “But I’m considering traveling for a bit. Australia sounds interesting.”

He has no intention of abandoning his home – he fought too hard for it – but he needs to put some space between himself and all the betrayal and heartbreak, and (the worst of all) the memories of better times. Perhaps, a physical distance will be helpful, especially accompanied by some exciting new experiences. He plans to drag Michael with him, not that convincing him should prove difficult. Hopefully, Australia will survive.

“Will you return?” inquires Linda.

“Of course, I wouldn’t abandon you to deal with Amenadiel and Maze all by your lonesome,” he promises.

He doesn’t mention that they don’t know how Heaven will react to a new baby-angel. There are good chances that Gabriel will take over Michael’s former position. The problem is, he has far much less sense of humor than his predecessor. Well... sense of every kind, really. They’ve never talked about it but he knows, it’s thanks to his twin’s influence, that he only ever had to deal with Amenadiel and not the half of Host. This can change now...

Thankfully, Hell shouldn’t be a problem. Between him and Maze they slaughtered a good chunk of the demon population. It’s doubtful they’d want him back... or risk being on the same plane of existence as him.

There was still the question of what Dad’s been playing at. He knew that Lucifer would leave Hell... but he also must have known that Amenadiel and Michael would interfere. So what really he wanted to accomplish here? Bloody omniscience, asking those questions led straight to developing a migraine.

His life has never been easy ( _thank you so much, Dad_ ) but somehow he survived everything it has thrown at him. This time he has with him some people worth having – this latest disaster won’t defeat him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) ‘The thing’ Maze and Mike hint at in previous chapters is the First Defenestration of Prague in 1419. Just assume the unholy trinity of Luci, Maze and Mike were there and up to some mischief. 
> 
> 2) The quote about the people in Hell dreaming of Heaven is from the Sandmen (issue 4). 
> 
> 3) The timeline where Luci’s Rebellion happened 80000 years ago is from the comics. Australia is where he first appeared after his abdication. 
> 
> 4) I borrowed lines from the dialogue from 4x09 because this scene rubbed me the wrong way. I mean, Luci’s like “I hate myself because I destroy everything and especially you.” And here she comes: “Sure, you can’t help yourself when you wreck havoc. You fucked me up but I’m still here, so stop sulking. You should accept what you’ve done, move on and once again be useful to me.” Am I to harsh? Perhaps, but historically speaking *cough*Angel of San Bernardino*cough* it wouldn’t be out of the character. 
> 
> So instead of making Lucifer try to forgive himself for being a monster, I’ve made him question if he actually is a monster. He’ll probably mull over it for centuries to come but oh well... 
> 
> 5) Once again, thank you so much for sticking with me for so long. 
> 
> Official announcement time [18.07.2019]: Good news, ladies, gentlemen and others – it appears I’ve spawned an idea how to continue this. I’m not sure how long writing it down will take, but I’m going to do it.


End file.
